Lucky Number 7
by HerStory
Summary: Harry, Draco and Co are 7th-years at Hogwarts
1. Chapter 1: Welcome to Hogwarts

**Harry Potter Fan Fiction **

**_PLEASE DO NOT REDISTRIBUTE WITHOUT PERMISSION!!_**

****

A/N – While this story is, in part, based on a popular "children's" book, it is in itself, entirely fictional, fabrication of my mind, capisce? Any parallels to "real life" are strictly coincidental or used with permission. Song lyrics are used without permission so I hope no one belonging to the band "Lifehouse" reads this. Or Justin Timberlake, for that matter. But I think it's not something I have to worry about. And I didn't ask Shakespeare if I could use a quote of his either. I assumed that, since he's dead, the grandfather of all great drama, god rest his soul, would forgive me this once for taking a line out of _Romeo & Juliet_. To be exact, the part where Mercutio and Romeo talk about dreams. Note that parts of this fictional story range from "slightly unrealistic" to "completely im-fucking-possible" and "there-is-no-way-s/he-would-ever-do/say-that!" Thanks for not suing me. Oh, and I have a slight language problem at times, too.

DISCLAIMER: all the characters you already know belong to J.K. Rowling, the others are my creations EXCEPT for Cerise Snape, Dawn Zabini, and Coralie Smith, property of Cassandra Krauss.

**HPFF1**

*New*Character:

Phebe Hawkins: 7th-year Ravenclaw

age: 17 

face: oval, pale 

hair: dark reddish-brown

eyes: dark brown

special traits: permanently sinister face expression (j/k) 

wand: 11 inches, pine, core of magic mercury

comments: Beauxbatons (years 1-4), attends Hogwarts since fifth year.

Phebe Hawkins ran to the Owl Tower. The dark-haired Ravenclaw had to get a message to her Slytherin friend, Cerise Snape. Although 7th-years had many privileges, they were also more heavily punished if they were caught stepping out of line. And for precisely this reason, she was very glad to have borrowed her boyfriend's Cloak of Invisibility. Phebe pulled a triangular rock from the folds of her robe. _I hate to do this_. _I'm sorry, Puddles_, Phebe thought as she transfigured her pet rock Puddles into a piece of chocolate. Her owl, Toffy, usually refused to fly unless bribed.

    Once she arrived at the tower, Phebe drew a scroll from a hidden pocket within her robes and pried the collapsible pen out of her boot that she had wedged there for safe-keeping. On the scroll she wrote in violet ink:

_Hey Cherry,_

_I hope you had a good time with Blondie yesternight . You lucky thangs don't have this dorm-difference problem. Take it from me, tables are VERY uncomfortable. It was very good that we had the C.o.I. since Sev was patrolling the halls near the empty classrooms last night. Doesn't he ever sleep?!_

It was a real bitch getting back into the R. common room (password changed again! Shining Knight out for "visit"..) Luckily Cho came by at around 2am .. we sort of agreed not to tell anyone else what we were doing outside of the dorms in the middle of the night but you know I can't keep secrets .. anyhow .. did you know she has a "night job" in Knockturn Alley? I wonder .. Well, I'd better get back to class – I told Binns I needed to go to the bathroom.

_"The Light One"_

After enchanting the scroll with a Friendship Code, which made the words blur and become distinguishable only to one other person's eyes, Phebe fed Toffy the chocolate. Her soft brown owl obediently held still as she strapped the secret message to his leg. She patted his head and gave him a little encouraging spank and finally her feathery friend flew off towards the High North Tower, where at exactly this moment, Cerise Snape was boring her way through her Divination lesson with the rest of the 7th-year Slytherins. Phebe leaned out the Owl Tower window and pointed her 11-inch pine wand (with a core of magic mercury) at the Divination classroom window, which seemed to be shut tightly.

"Alohomora!" she whispered. The window creaked but opened. If Professor Trelawney had put someone in a trance, just as she had done with the 7th-year Hufflepuff class an hour before, she would be much too submerged in her lesson to notice Toffy delivering Phebe's coded message to Cerise. Generally, Professor Trelawney was not a very perceptive person.

Then Phebe transfigured her violet pen into a stick of liquorice and left it by the window as a little thank-you for Toffy. She pulled Harry's Cloak of Invisibility snugly around her shoulders, inhaling his scent. She didn't take it off until shortly before she got back to her History of Magic class. There, she tucked under her robes, inched quietly into the room and slid into her seat next to Wera Ghrandol, a blonde, cheerful Ravenclaw. Professor Binns gave her a questioning look but continued with the lesson.

Later that evening in the multi-house 7th-year lounge, Phebe was glad she had let her self-writing quill running during her short absence from History of Magic when she reviewed her notes and waited for her friends to join her. She was nearly done with her homework and already planning all the new havoc she would wreak this evening.

At last Hermione turned up. "Ron will be here in a minute," she said. "He's gotten a howler from his mother."

Phebe shrugged sympathetically. "These things happen." At the beginning of the fifth year, the two girls had not gotten along at all. Hermione's opinion of Phebe had been exceedingly low and Phebe had thought Hermione to be a distinct-less swot. Now in seventh year, it seemed that their differences were as good as cleared up.

Ron, Harry and Draco, the last arm in arm with Cerise, entered the seventh-year lounge. The chaos could begin.


	2. Chapter 2: One Wreak Of Havoc

HPFF2 

Phebe sighed exasperatingly when she realized she had forgotten her Divination books in the seventh-years' lounge. She searched the halls desperately for some animate object to transfigure into temporary Divination books. (She was also simply too lazy to go all the way back to the lounge to get her real books.) Phebe knew from experience that animate objects (vegetables or rodents worked best) lasted roughly an hour.  
        Then Phebe spotted a half-eaten apple behind a statue. It was brown and slightly dry. It also struck her as mildly disgusting but she had no choice. She picked the rancorous thing up anyway.  
        "_Transfiguris Librum Divinaris_!" she said. +POOF+ The apple had turned into a nice fat stack of provisional books that smelled a little strange but would have to do. She was already half past late. Wera Ghrandol caught up with her as she was about to enter the classroom. Wera was breathless. And it didn't seem to be because of her running.  
        "Have you seen the new DADA teacher?" Wera gasped. Phebe shook her head. "He is absolutely adorable!"  
        "Is he?" Phebe asked disinterestedly and climbed the steep attic-like stairs to Professor Trelawney's classroom. She pushed open the trapdoor, thus putting an end to Wera's raving and ranting.  
        Divination passed, as any other boring class did, without any major glitches, except for the fact that Phebe's _Guide To Palm Reading_ sprouted worms halfway through the lesson. Wera and Phebe decided to meet in the seventh years' common lounge to spend their free hour studying. A Potions quiz was inevitable.  
        Once out of the Divination classroom, Phebe transfigured her impermanent books (whose pages were beginning to look a little brown) back into the apple and disposed of it with a simple Disposiaris charm.  
        Ungracefully, she wiped her hands on her robe, walked hurriedly around a corner and nearly collided head-on with an elvish-looking stranger. His hair was dark and cropped stylishly short and his face was a long, pale oval adorned by fashionable facial hair. His ears were pointy and decorated with several silver earring studs.  
        "Sorry," he said, smiling shyly as his dark eyes traveled and gave Phebe the proverbial "once-over." They stopped once they reached her own, dark eyes and Phebe felt like she was sinking profoundly and deeply into his soul. At that moment Harry Potter appeared. He did not seem to be very fond of the figurative chemistry that his girlfriend was sharing with the dark stranger.  
        "Phebe," he said, sounding annoyed, "Don't you have a free hour now? Let's go to the common lounge." He gently took her arm and pulled her quite un-gently out of the foreigner's path, who walked on like nothing had happened. (Or maybe like it happened every day.)  
        "Who _was_ that?" Harry asked, a trifle suspicious, and glanced over his shoulder. "I've never seen _him_ before."  
        "I don't know," Phebe said, wondering who indeed this dark stranger was. Somehow, he seemed familiar.  
        In the seventh years' lounge, Phebe and Harry headed for a secluded corner where they always sat with their friends. Hermione, Ron and Linus, as well as Damian Carrel, a Hufflepuff acquaintance of Linus's, were already there and had cleverly occupied the most comfortable chairs. Cerise Snape and Draco Malfoy were, of course, not there. Without a doubt, they were out frolicking in the summer breeze (despite the fact it was autumn and bitterly cold – unquestionably, they were frolicking nonetheless).  
        Linus Stripes, a short, pretty Slytherin, was part Chinese and favored bright colors. Today she was wearing a black standard issue Hogwarts robe and a scarf, striped black and bright green.

"Wait a second," Harry said, pulling Phebe behind a bookshelf and locking his arms around her waist. "I wanted to ask you something."

"Ask away," Phebe sighed. She tickled the back of Harry's neck.

"Do you feel up to practicing some magic with me tonight?"

"You know what, I've had a very stressful week," replied Phebe curtly. "I've slept about 12 hours in the last 72 and – " she paused, seeing the hurt expression on Harry's face. "You could practice with Mione, if you like," she suggested gently.

"Ah, that's not quite the type of _magic_ I had in mind, Phebe." Harry's eyebrows shot skyward and his lightning-bolt scar flashed at her.

"Oh.." she mouthed, finally getting the picture.

"Phebe!" Linus called from around the corner. "Oh Pheebee!!"

"Yes?" Phebe yelled back. Harry loosened his arms and Phebe broke from his grasp to join her other friends.

"I thought you were going to help me with my Divination homework," Linus said crossly.

"Uhm, yes," stuttered Phebe, "I need to find my Divination books first." drawing her wand from the folds of her unshapely Hogwarts robes, she began to chant. "_Montras librum_!" The table in front of her shuddered. "_Librum leviosa_," she continued and the heavy dark wood table rose to eye-level. Ron and Harry chuckled. Phebe sighed, irritated, when she realized that her friends had used her Divination books as extended table legs.

Once her precious books were back in her arms and the table stood safely on the ground, she sat down and asked to borrow some parchment from Hermione.

"_Ecritus carmosi_," Phebe told her wand and began a letter to Sabrina Lefler. Sabrina was a fellow Ravenclaw who was on a four-month exchange at the Stuyvesant School of Magic in New York City. Another of her friends, Vanessa Precious, was also in New York City, however, she attended Saint Mary's Witchery Academy, an all-girls school. Phebe missed both of them terribly.

She was not in any mood to study and she wanted to tell Sabrina, someone who was a lot less rambunctious than her other friends, about the elvish man she had run into just minutes before. Her wand spilled her thoughts onto her parchment in the form of purple ink.

Meanwhile, Wera had arrived and continued to rant about the new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher to anyone who would listen. Phebe was so engrossed in her letter to Sabrina that she did not take much notice. She did not even realize the gong that signalized the end of class had sounded until Harry laid his hand on her shoulder.

"Phebe, don't you have Deeay-deeay now?"

"What? Oh yes, with that new teacher Wera is so fond of .." Phebe smiled, put down her wand and stretched. A little stream of violet ink trickled onto her parchment. She reached up and hugged Harry tightly.

Harry returned her smile. "Think about tonight. We haven't spent much time together lately," he lowered his voice, "or at least a lot less than I would like."

"I'll think about it," Phebe said, nodding thoughtfully. Harry left and she gathered up her books. She hoped her new DADA teacher wasn't so strict. Merlin knew there were enough malicious teachers at Hogwarts already.

***                     *                          ***

Phebe nearly dropped her books in shock when she entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and found the pale elf-man beaming at her class.

This year, she had enrolled in Advanced DADA. It was a small, intensive course with only 14 Ravenclaws in it. A good number of them were female.

"Hello," said the cute elf, "I am here to teach you _Advanced_ Defense Against the Dark Arts. My name is Connolly Finstad. You may call me _Professor_ Finstad." He flashed a shy but winning smile at the class. One pointy, elvish ear glinted with a studded earring when it caught the light. Wera sighed audibly.

A blond boy named Donny Thistle raised his hand. "I'm sorry, but did you say _Advanced _Defense?"

"Yes," Professor Finstad nodded proudly.

"I believe I am in the wrong class," Donny explained, collecting his books and making for the door.

"It's ok, it can happen to the best of us," Professor Finstad smiled graciously. "By the way, Professor Snape will be teaching the regular course."

There were a few chuckles.

"Oh, _great_," exclaimed Donny sarcastically.

"Yes, he is quite a splendid teacher," the elflike lecturer confessed, but Donny didn't hear him as he had slammed the door upon hearing this unwanted knowledge.

"Didn't I tell you he was a cutie?" Wera whispered smugly into Phebe's ear when their elvish teacher tuned to write the year's curriculum on the chalkboard. Phebe reminded herself to add a postscript to Sabrina's letter.

***                     *                          ***

"Oh, I have sooo much work to do!" exclaimed Vanessa Roche. Phebe felt very sorry for her. "Advanced Herbology is a _horror_!" The part-Fijian Ravenclaw sighed. "And Advanced Arithmancy! I really had no idea it was so hard."

"Van, who teaches Ad-Rith?" Phebe wondered.

"Professor Finstad," Van said, looking glum. "I swear he hates me."

"Hey! He's my ADADA teacher," Phebe informed her.

"Ay-dee-ay-dee-ay. That sounds like a cheap Muggle song," Van remarked complacently.

"Van-Van!" Phebe reprimanded her. "That was not very nice of you at all."

"I'm _sorry_," Vanessa began, "but how can you expect me to be a happy flower person to _everyone_ when I am so loaded with _work_?"

"Reee-lax," Phebe said, placing a calming hand on Vanessa's arm, "I heard that they don't actually give _that_ much homework in your courses."

"Pshh, it's not the _home_work, it's all the college forms and applications I have to fill out!" Van plunked into a nearby chair. "And Ella always wants me to help her with _her_ work and she says she'll send an owl to Mom and Dad right away if I refuse! I love her dearly but she can be _such_ a brat sometimes." Vanessa sighed.

"Hmm," Phebe brooded. "I heard little sisters are the worst. I'm glad I only have brothers."

"Is Shawn as aggravating as Ella?" Vanessa asked.

"Well, no," Phebe shook her head. "He pretends not to know me. You know that fifth-years are too cool to acknowledge their older siblings."

"That depends," conflicted Van.

"True," agreed Phebe, "Shawn can always ask for money. Have you heard from Haven lately?"

"You don't hear from your own brother?" asked Van in disbelief.

"Rarely," shrugged Phebe. "Ever since he left for college .. what was it called again?"

"Parsons," Van filled in.

"S'right." nodded Phebe. "Anyway, it's not my fault you're drowning in papers. It's no reason for you to come down with such a case of Hermionitis like this. Your moods seem to be getting kind of contagious."

"My _moods_?" Vanessa scoffed with disbelief. "You mean you're feeling bitchy lately, right?"

"Oh, no, it's not me," Phebe said quickly. "It's just that _Harry's_ been acting a little strange recently."

"Could it have something to do with this?" Van suggested and smartly plucked a crumpled copy of the _Luckfaker_, the Hogwarts school newspaper, out if her immense pile of folders.

"_P-O-T-T-E-R Spells Trouble!_" the title page screamed.

"Can I have this?" Phebe gasped and eagerly yanked the paper from Vanessa's hand.

"Sure, one less thing to carry," said Van cheerfully, "I'm off to Ad-Herb!" she announced and dashed out of Phebe's sight.

Phebe retreated to the secluded corner in the seventh-year common room to read the article. It ran as follows:

"The one, the only, the legend, Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived – is he the source of trouble that was brought to Hogwarts in the last six years? The year Potter arrived at school was the year things started to go bad. We-ALL-Know-Who regained his power that year and put _all_ of Hogwarts in peril because he wanted REVENGE on _Potter_. Then in Potter's second year, numerous students found themselves stunned nearly to death in these very hallways! If it wasn't for orphan Harry's return to Hogwarts in his third year, campus would not have been swarming with Dementors, whose mere _presence_ was a _very_ trying epoch for many a student. Who is this Potter anyway to smuggle his name into the Goblet of Fire in his fourth year, although he was much too young to even _dream_ about –" Phebe looked up abruptly to find Harry staring at her, his face a mask of rage.

"Enjoying it?" He spit the question fiercely at Phebe.

"It's definitely trash," said Phebe resolutely, aware that Harry was very disappointed to find her reading such a hateful piece of pseudo-literature as this. She put the _Luckfaker_ gently down on the table in front of her and folded her hands.

"If it's such rubbish, why were you reading it so _avidly_?" Harry's voice was remarkably cold.

"I was just .. I want to know why you've been so .. angry .. lately," Phebe stuttered.

"Angry," Harry mused, his green eyes sparkling with fury. "Angry? Like _how_?" He shook his head. "You could have asked, you know, paid a little attention to me now and then."

Phebe was silent.

"Don't you care?" Harry questioned.

"Yes. I do. Care," Phebe tried to find the right words. "Is any of it true?"

"Why, yes, Phebe, I compact with _Voldemort_," Harry hissed sarcastically. Phebe winced. "Ignito!" In a flash, Harry had pulled out his wand and set the _Luckfaker_ on fire. "How's _that_ for angry?" he huffed.

"Harry!" Phebe cried, "What are you _doing_? Have you gone insane?! Aquatico!" commanded Phebe and a bucket's worth of water rained on the burning tabloid.

"I thought you'd side with me on this." Harry said quietly.

"Venta," ordered Phebe and flicked her wand at the table. The wind that flowed from her wand dried the wet paper and table instantly.

"Obviously I was wrong," Harry stated and turned on his heel.

In no time, the _Luckfaker_ was wet again, but this time the soggy, charred paper was salty. Cerise found Phebe collapsed and crying on the table when she and Draco made their way other to the usual corner. Draco tactfully left the two friends alone and instead went to search for Harry.

***                     *                          ***

There was a House Meeting in progress in the Ravenclaw common room. It was impossible to describe just how much Phebe detested House Meetings. And the House Captain.

Cho Chang, who was repeating her seventh year at Hogwarts on account of a, ah, _chemical_ addiction that had put her on the verge of O.D.-ing and the subsequent therapy, that kept her out of school for three-quarters of the school year.

"Ok, listen up!" Cho yelled, trying to get the entire present party's attention. She marched around the crowded room, pushing people aside right and left, telling them to shut up and generally making herself unpopular. Her getting voted as House Captain had been an act of pity on behalf of the Ravenclaws.

"Whoa! Hot and _sleazy_ coming through!" Phebe whispered to assorted cronies as Cho badgered her way through their part of the crowd.

"We're behind in points again!" Cho cried, finally succeeding in temporarily getting the room's attention. "Even _Hufflepuff_ has more points than us! This is a _disgrace_ to the house of Rowena Ravenclaw!"

"Disgrace, my face," Wera sniffled, "_I_ think the Hufflepuffs deserve to have more points than us for once."

"Right. Nobody except the Slytherins and Gryffindors really care about House points anymore," Van agreed. Phebe flinched. It was true. The two most competitive Hogwarts Houses were Slytherin .. and Gryffindor. They _really_ cared. _Harry_ cared.

"As if she could read Phebe's mind, Van whispered, "By the way, how is ..? "

Phebe shook her head no. They were still in a fight. Neither had relented and apologized yet. She blinked back tears. Cho's voice droned on and on, condemning the Ravenclaws for letting even the lowly Hufflepuffs get a 20-point lead.

Meanwhile, in the Gryffindor common room, Ron was giving his speech. He was a far more respected House Captain than Cho was.

"The Slytherins are 50 points _ahead_!" he shouted enthusiastically, "Are we going to let them _win_?!"

"NO!" yelled the Gryffindors.

"That's right!" Ron exclaimed. "Keep up your spirit! We need this! The Gryffindors _deserve_ this!

_I want to win_, Harry thought, _I want to win_!

"YEAH!" cheered the Gryffindors.

"Right then! I hope I'll be seeing _everyone_ at the Quidditch meet against Slytherin next month!"

"YEAH!" his happy followers crowed.

Draco slicked his tousled blond hair back with his left hand. "Drat!" he said, remembering the Slytherin meeting in the common room. His outburst echoed through the empty classroom.

"What?" asked Cerise's voice in his ear.

"House Meeting," Draco sighed.

"Great," Cerise rolled her eyes. She buttoned up her garments and attempted to smooth down her disheveled hair. "Let's go."

They arrived in the Slytherin common room late, of course, but Blaise Zabini did not seem to mind. Neither did the other Slytherins.

"Draco!" a few yelled, "Our man!"

Draco smiled emphatically. Things had been like this since he had joined the Slytherin Quidditch team as a seeker in his second year.

"Sauntering in late as usual," the House Captain scolded him good-naturedly.

"I do prefer fashionably late entrances," Draco replied suavely, taking Cerise's hand and walking towards a large armchair, which was cleared promptly.

_Out of respect_, Draco thought.

_You mean out of fear_, Cerise's voice echoed in his head. They had learned to read each other's thoughts a year ago and were steadily improving. Draco took a seat in the armchair and scowled at Cerise, who had nestled herself in his lap.

"So, a little recap for our untimely hero: we are fifty points ahead of Gryffindor!" Blaise boomed. The Slytherin common room trembled with the noise the crowd emitted. Slytherin had never been so close to regaining the House Cup, not since Draco's fourth year, when Harry Potter and Ron Weasley won it from them at last minute. "The House Cup," Blaise predicted, "is as good as ours! Keep up the good work!"

The Hufflepuffs were no less enthusiastic than their three fellow Houses.

"Good job, Hufflepuffs!" crowed a cheerful seventh year, a pretty Australian girl called Chauncey Hallows, "We're _twenty points_ ahead of Ravenclaw! I'm very proud of you – _ALL_ of you!"

The Hufflepuffs roared. Finally they were being granted the recognition they deserved.

The various House Meetings were dispersed and hundreds of students crowded through the hallways to polish up their inter-house relationships.

"Hermione!" Vanessa Roche called. Hermione turned.

"Oh, hi, Vanessa! How are you?" she asked cheerfully.

"I'm fine," Vanessa answered. Hermione smiled. "Phebe is not."

"I know," Hermione said sympathetically, "It really is a shame, but I cannot go about solving _everyone's_ problems all the time."

"Please, just help me with this," Van pleaded. "I know you and Phebe have never really been friends .. but do it for _Harry_."

"Oh, I suppose .." said Hermione, who was on the verge of relenting.

"Ok, here's the plan," Vanessa cut in, "Ron confiscates Harry's wand and Wera will get Phebe's – and then we'll clear the common lounge, lure them in there and lock it." Vanessa took a deep breath. "I have to go to a Diggory Memorial Fund meeting. I'm counting on you. Put a locking spell on the doors for two hours. That should be enough."

"Oh, alright," Hermione shrugged.

"You, Mione, are an absolute dear. Thank you." Van hugged Hermione and ran off.

"Hey Mione!" said Ron, who had appeared as swiftly as Vanessa had vanished.

"Ron," Hermione said, sounding quite miserable, "Harry needs our help."

"You're right!" Ron cheered, ever the enthusiast, "He needs all the help he can get to train before the match!"

"Not. That. Ron." Hermione spelled it out for him, nice and slow.

"Right," agreed Ron sheepishly, "I'll get his wand."

"Meet you at the lounge in ten minutes?" asked Hermione.

"Sure," Ron nodded and went on his way.

***                            *                          ***

"Alright!" Cerise yelled, "Everybody out!" The seventh-years in the lounge stared at her. Puzzled was an understatement.

"Ah, yes .. out!" Draco joined her. "We just heard a complaint from someone .. that there's a couple of .. ah–"

"Coyrunners!" Cerise interjected.

".. in here!" Draco finished.

"Shut it, Malfoy!" Billy Craven, a Gryffindor, sneered. "You just want this place as a make-out den."

_Summon a coyrunner_, he though to Cerise, _then I'll stun it_. "There's one now!" Draco yelled.

"Creaturo Coyrunner!" Cerise shouted at the exactly moment Draco chanted, "Stupefy!"

A stunned coyrunner thwacked Billy on the head with a satisfyingly hollow thud. Billy yelped. The rest of the seventh-years fled their beloved lounge. Cerise and Draco grinned at each other and felt like they were witnessing a genuine high-five-moment.

***                            *                          ***

"Say, Harry," Ron cleared his throat, "Can I see your, ah, wand, please?"

"Sure. Here, why do you need it?" Harry asked dubiously, handing his best friend his wand.

"Mine's, ah, well, come to the lounge with me, will you?" he said, tucked the wand safely in to his robe and changing the subject, ushered Harry towards the seventh-years' common room.

***                            *                          ***

"Heya Pheebs, hand me that there wand before you poke someone's eye out," Wera plucked the wand from Phebe's fingers. "Let's go and relax a bit in the lounge, ok?"

"Phebe sighed. "Ok – wait! No! NO! I don't want to go after all!" Phebe protested, trying to snatch her wand back.

"Why ever not?" Wera moaned. She had been THIS close.

"_He_ is going to be there," Phebe croaked and choked back a sob.

"Naw, forget it!" said Wera to bide some time. She needed an excuse, _fast_. "Harry'll be practicing for Quidditch every waking minute. I can almost guarantee .."

"Quidditch has always been more important than me," Phebe sniffled, "that and saving the damn world." She paused. "And _Her-miiiii-one_, of course."

"So, anyway, there's no danger in going to the looooounge," hinted Wera. She had to get this over with. She had her own rendezvous to attend to.

"Let's go to Hogsmeade," suggested Phebe. "Shopping always cheers me up."

"Pheebs, I don't have all day," said Wera impatiently, "I'll walk you to the lounge. Hey, Cerise wanted to tell you – she has to talk to you."

"Oh yeah? What about?" Phebe pulled a tissue from her robes and blew her nose audibly.

"Didn't say." Wera congratulated herself. Mention of Cerise had finally awakened Phebe's curiosity. Then she added, "She _did_ say it was urgent, though."

"Okay," Phebe said and let herself be led to the lounge.

***                            *                          ***

"Hi Draco, hi Cerise," Harry said to the pair that looked almost as though they were guarding the lounge. Ron steered him inside. "Why is it so quiet? Why is it so empty? Ron?"

Ron shrugged. "I don't know. Wait here. I forgot something." Ron raced out the doors.

"Cerise, you wanted to talk to me?" Phebe asked her friend. Wera nodded hectically behind her.

"Oh .. yes .. _right_," Cerise took Wera's hint and Phebe's arm and guided her into the empty room. "In _here_."

Phebe's gaze fell on Harry Potter, who was busily trying to act busy looking at some random books on a shelf.

"Be right back," Cerise lied.

"No!" Phebe whispered pleadingly, "Don't leave me!"

"Just for a second," Cerise pried Phebe's hand off of her arm and joined Ron, Draco and Wera outside. Hermione had arrived.

"Is the lounge cleared?" she asked, assuming authority.

"Yes," answered Draco.

"Are they in there?" Hermione proceeded.

"Sure," chorused Ron and Cerise.

"Got the wands?" Hermione inquired. Ron and Wera held Harry's and Phebe's wands up for Hermione to see. "Good," she said, nodding approvingly. "Here goes. Fermera!" Hermione chanted. The doors shut and clicked.

"Oh crap," Phebe and Harry said in unison.

"A job well done!" they heard Wera's muffled voice exclaim.

"It's up to them," a muted Hermione said wisely.

Harry and Phebe heard their friends walk away. This was for real. Neither spoke for a minute.

It was Phebe who broke the uncomfortable quiet. "Shouldn't you be at Quidditch practice?" she said coldly, more to spite Harry than out of personal interest.

"I haven't been in the mood to play," answered Harry curtly.

"Why?" Phebe scoffed.

"I suppose that a flu is going round," Harry retorted, sniffing arrogantly.

"_Idiot_," coughed Phebe. (It's like a Loser-Sneeze except that it's an Idiot-Cough.)

"_What_ did you say?" asked Harry suspiciously.

"Ah, _nothing_," Phebe said dismissively.

"Oh, no, I _heard_ you," Harry smirked.

"Oh yeah?" asked Phebe mock-belligerently. "Then what _did_ I say, smarty-pants?"

Harry grinned. "You Idiot-Coughed me."

"No," Phebe insisted, smiling back. "You must have misunderstood me. I did not Idiot-Cough _anyone_."

"Oh yes, you _did_," said Harry triumphantly.

"Did not!" Phebe walked up to him and gave him a little push. "That should learn ya, accusing me of Idiot-Coughing."

Harry pushed Phebe back. Phebe pushed Harry harder.

"Hey!" said Phebe, laughing and shoving him again, "You shouldn't pick fights with girls!"

"Girls pick fights with me!" persisted Harry, scooping Phebe up, who was almost a head shorter than him, and dumping her on the ratty old couch that sat in the lounge.

"Argh!" screamed Phebe, as they started to wrestle. Then they both grinned at each other when they remembered what their little wrestling games usually led to..

"What was this all about again?" Harry asked sitting up and turning serious.

"It was that article," explained Phebe, out of breath.

"In the _Luckfaker_," Harry finished, nodding.

"I had a bad day," she confessed, motioning for Harry to sit down facing to her. He did.

"I had a bad _week_. When I saw you reading that load of crap, you didn't even look a bit shocked. And when I said your name, you didn't notice me." Harry took Phebe's hand but avoided her eyes. "You used to notice me."

"Well, I still do, it's just, I .. I care for you, very much." Their eyes locked. "I'm sorry."

"I'm sorry too," Harry said, pulling Phebe close and whispering in her ear, "I missed you." Phebe blinked back tears. She heard Harry's breath catch in his throat. "Hey!" he jerked away. "What is _that_?" 

Harry pried himself from their embrace and stared wide-eyed at the stunned blue creature about the size of a bludger that lay on the floor of the lounge. It was remarkable he had not noticed it before.

***                            *                          ***

"So, for how long did you lock the lounge?" Ron asked Hermione, his arm slung casually around her waist, as they trudged down the hallway with Cerise, Draco (inseparable as ever), and Wera close behind.

"Oh, I didn't," Hermione replied calmly. The others halted.

"What?" asked Cerise and Draco.

"You didn't?" Wera inquired with disbelief.

"B-b-but you said that whole _Fermera_ charm to lock the doors, I heard you," Ron stuttered.

"Oh that," Hermione dismissed it with a wave of her hand. "_Fermera_ _closes_ a door. Locking is another charm." Her friends stared at her skeptically. "Just think of the fire hazards!" Hermione exclaimed. "What if there had been a fire? They would have been trapped in their, wandless."

"She's right," Ron admitted reluctantly.

"Besides," Hermione added, "I think they just needed to be alone – together – to sort things out."

***                            *                          ***

"I believe it is a coyrunner," Phebe observed. _A small, mischievous creature that is roughly a combination of a coyote and a rabbit_, she quoted her _Guide to Magical Creatures_ in her head._ It has sharp fangs and is only dangerous when its fur is not a primary color._ Luckily, _this_ coyrunner seemed to be not only blue, but also stunned. A particularly harmless combination. Nevertheless, she was slightly pissed at it for having disturbed their privacy.

"Why is it _here_?" Harry specified his question.

"Search me," shrugged Phebe, looking the other way.

"I think I will," Harry said, suddenly finding the coyrunner much less interesting than his girlfriend. He was getting reading for a full body frisk when – 

Vanessa burst into the lounge and cheered, "Yay!" then stopped dead in her tracks and stared. "Where is everyone?" she asked.

"Search me," said Harry, untangling himself from Phebe.

"Ooopsy," Vanessa said, remembering, "I _forgot_ about _that_. They decided not to lock the doors, as I have noticed. It seems to have worked anyway." Her left eyebrow rocketed skyward. "And you seem to have been taking full _advantage_ of it anyway."

"They – they _weren't_?" Harry stuttered.

"_Locked_?" Phebe sputtered.

"No," Van said. "At any rate, I came here to tell you that the Diggory Memorial Fund has decided to hook Hogwarts up to the International Wizard Network!" There was no response. "It's like the Internet," Van restated.

"Yay," said Phebe dryly.

"What's Internet?" Harry asked.

"Oops," Vanessa said, noticing the coyrunner, "_Evaporis_!"


	3. Chapter 3: Coyrunners and Accompanying C...

**HPFF3**

**CAREFUL** KIDS THERE'S SOME 

PRETTY **RUDE LANGUAGE** IN HERE..

"Can you help me with this?" Phebe asked Terry. They were sitting in the common lounge and doing Arithmancy: Phebe was _trying_ to do Arithmancy. Terry was explaining.

"Sure," Terry said graciously. Terry Mada was a seventh year Hufflepuff. He had short, dark hair and greenish-blue eyes. And he was quite a little Arithmancy genius, too.

As Terry explained the problem to her, Phebe aha-ed and ok-ed but her mind wandered and she found it impossible to concentrate. Phebe could not help being afraid that any second, Harry, who had grown absurdly bossy and overprotective of her in the last weeks, could burst into the common lounge and have a temper. 

She was getting sick of being careful about talking to male friends whenever Harry was around. _He would be absolutely furious_, Phebe thought, _if he came in here and saw me with Terry_. The evil part of her almost wished he would. But it was better not to take any chances. When Harry was moody and it was always better not to aggravate him. His caprices usually had reasons.

"You know what," she interrupted Terry, "I'm going to work this out with Hermione later."

"Oh, ok. But did it help?" Terry inquired.

"Yes, thank you." Phebe gathered her books and scrolls and hurried toward the exit of the lounge. She ran smack into Ron and dropped everything. Books, pens, quills, and paper went flying everywhere. It really wasn't her day.

"Oh!" exclaimed Ron, "Sorry about that! Let me get it."

They knelt on the floor and began to collect Phebe's things. "No, no, it's ok!" Phebe assured him, "I should have been watching where I was going."

Phebe thanked Ron for his help and then he dashed off. Harry appeared with a scowl on his face. It seemed he always wore one lately.

"What exactly," Harry implored skeptically, "were you and Ron grubbing about on the floor for?" He gave Phebe a look that suspected an unwelcome answer.

Phebe was not in a good mood. She did not enjoy being bossed around and she was not going to take it anymore. _This_ was the _last_ straw. Ron was his _best friend_ for chrissakes! Dropping her books, she curtly grabbed the front of Harry's robe and pushed her boyfriend against the nearest wall.

"Now, Harry, I do not want to make a scene," she whispered into his ear, "but I think you are going too far." Harry was silent. "If you are so _paranoid_ to think that I am fooling around with every Tom, Dick and –" Harry inhaled sharply, "– and _Malcolm_," Phebe continued, her anger rising, "I must tell you that you are very much mistaken!" With that she let of his robe.

"_You're_ the one that's always sneaking and creeping around with as many boys as possible! You know what, Phebe?" Harry inserted a cruel pause, "It almost seems like you're _trying_ to make me jealous. It's not like I have enough problems already without having to worry about my girlfriend's fidelity."

"Why are you always doubting me?" Phebe queried, narrowing her coffee-brown eyes, "What have I _done_ to make you mistrust me?

"_Why_ do you _always_ ask me that?" Harry countered, clearly annoyed.

"Why are _you_ always so fucking _assertive_?" Phebe sneered. "Why does it always have to be _your way_ or none at all? Do you even know how to _spell_ the word _compromise_?"

"Hey! I am _not_ assertive!" Harry's eyes flashed angrily. If there was one thing he hated, then it was being called _assertive_. He was _so_ not _assertive_.

"I give up!" Phebe announced, throwing her hands up in defeat. She bent down to pick up to retrieve her twice-scattered belongings. Harry straightened his collar and watched Phebe collect her possessions.

"That's _so_ like you," Harry scoffed.

"Shut up!" Phebe hissed, trying hard not to lose the little patience and composure she had left. "You're _such_ a prick sometimes."

By this time, it was far too late to avoid a scene, and a small crowd of onlookers swarmed around them. Everyone loved witnessing couples fight, especially if it was the famous Harry Potter and his significant other.

"And you can be quite a moody cow," snarled Harry.

"You're a paranoid freak!" Phebe sneered.

"Slut!"

"Wanker!"

"Bitch!"

"Faggot!"

"Whore!"

"Loser!"

"Midnight!"

"Fine!" Phebe huffed and ran off.

The horde cheered.

"Walk on!" Harry yelled, in an attempt to disperse the mob, "There is nothing to see!" Then he pushed his way into the lounge.

***                            *                          ***

"What?" Isabella Mortimer exclaimed when she heard the latest Hogwarts gossip. "They've fought _again_?" Wera nodded. "I need to hear Phebe's side!" Isabella said and strolled leisurely to the Ravenclaw dorms.

Isabella, also a seventh-year, had thick, dark hair and creamy pale skin that was dotted gracefully with pastel freckles. Her eyes were dark brown and expressive. Isabella was one of Phebe's oldest friends. They had attended Beauxbatons together for four years.

"Banana trauma," Isabella said to the Ravenclaw portrait hole. It let her in.

Phebe was sitting placidly in front of the large Ravenclaw hearth. She was absently reading a copy of _TeenWitch_.

"Hi, Izzy," Phebe greeted her friend.

"Tell me about it!" Izzy exclaimed, getting straight to the point. "Was there any blood?"

"No," Phebe said, looking perturbed. "Bad news sure travels fast."

"Oh, yes," agreed Izzy, taking a seat by the warm fire. "Hogwarts is _the_ gossip metropolis when it comes to such things." She flicked imaginary lint off one sleeve. "So .. no details?"

"Don't pry," Phebe reprimanded her.

"I didn't pry!" assured Izzy, "I was merely _inquiring_."

"Hrmph, ok," Phebe said and told Izzy the whole story.

"You've been fighting pretty often lately," Izzy remarked. "I hope you don't expect anyone to pull a lounge-clearing stunt like last month again."

"I don't," Phebe sighed. "I can't always let everyone else fight my battles."

***                            *                          ***

Cerise did not like going to the library. She had, however, only two choices: one, ask Hermione and get a lecture or two, go to the library. Much as she adored Draco's voice, she was getting rather un-fond of hearing it inside her head all the time. There just had to be a book about reversing these kinds of acquired traits.

Cerise was very shocked to find Phebe, of all people, sitting not only _alone_, but she was also poring over a Muggle novel in the farthest reading corner of the large, old library.

"Where's Harry?" Cerise wondered.

"Where's Draco?" countered Phebe, looking up from her book.

"Obviously, he is not here," Cerise informed her suddenly-bookish friend.

"Actually, that was a trick question," Phebe said, yawning, "I just saw him speak to the librarian out of his own free will three minutes ago."

"Did you?" Cerise coaxed Phebe to continue.

"He was definitely headed towards the non-fiction books. Personally, I think that someone's taking the Imperious Curse a little too far."

"I'll be right back," Cerise said and began to search for Draco.

She found him in the Condition Controlling section and watched him from behind a bookshelf for a moment. Draco was very engrossed in a copy of _The Thought-Control Manual for Bloody Beginners_.

"Boo," said Cerise, startling him. Draco dropped the book. "What is this?" she asked, pointing at the _Thought-Control Manual_.

"It's a .." Dray stuttered.

"I know," Cerise smiled. "This whole thought-thing is getting pretty annoying."

"It's not what I thought it would be," Draco admitted apologetically, bending down to retrieve the book.

Draco headed for the front desk to check out the book and Cerise returned to the reading corner to check on Phebe and her Muggle book.

Phebe's abandoned novel lay facedown on the table. She was otherwise occupied.

"I thought you two were in a fight," the Slytherin commented dryly. Harry and Phebe continued making out. "I think I am about to have a PDA overdose."

"With a remark like _that_ coming from someone like _you_, we must be getting pretty heavy," gasped Phebe, who had stopped to catch her breath.

"Make love not war," Harry said and returned to his previous pastime.

"Oh yes," cried Draco enthusiastically, appearing suddenly behind Cerise, book in hand. "Yes, let's."

Cerise rolled her eyes. "_Let's_ leave these two _alone_," she hinted and dragged Draco to the Slytherin dorms.

***                            *                          ***

"What in the world have you been _doing_?" Phebe inquired with astonishment. She had run into a very tousled Wera outside of the library.

"M-m-me?" stuttered Wera and attempted to smooth down her robes. "Nothing, really."

"Are you sure?" asked Phebe suspiciously. "You look so .. _disheveled_."

"You look quite harried yourself," said Wera, pointing at Phebe's unkempt hair. Straightening his glasses and clearing his throat, Harry shuffled up beside Phebe.

"Hullo," said the Gryffindor huskily.

"And I think I know why," remarked Wera deprecatingly.

Phebe smiled sourly. "What a pun."

"What?" asked Harry, lost.

Moments after the three friends began their pilgrimage to the seventh-year lounge, Professor Finstad stepped from a nearby hall closet. He looked right and left, adjusted his robes and strode confidently towards  his DADA classroom.

***                            *                          ***

Draco wrinkled his nose. "It smells of feet in here," he remarked, not terribly impressed by the fifty floating candles Cerise had magicked into her empty Slytherin dorm room.

"That's very possible," Cerise admitted. "I have feet."

"_Nice_ feet," complimented Draco. He decided not to push his luck.

Cerise smiled and shook her head. "You've totally ruined the atmosphere now." As they embraced, Draco began to fiddle with the buttons on Cerise's black blouse.

"Drat," muttered Draco.

"You're a wizard," Cerise reminded him.

"_Alohomora_," he said sarcastically, opting instead to tear the blouse. The buttons popped off and clattered to the floor.

"That," Cerise said, crossing her arms, "was perfectly unromantic."

"This isn't about romance," Draco tried to justify his rash actions, "It's a matter of preventing war."

"Oh?" asked Cerise, completely unconvinced.

"Yes, Potter said so," Draco beamed.

"Well, he _would_ know, wouldn't he?" Cerise agreed sarcastically. "Shhh," she shushed, putting a finger on Dray's lips before he could open his mouth to speak again. "One more un-poetic word from you and you are out of here."

"Just one more thing, Cherry," Draco mumbled, kissing her finger. "Can you turn off those candles?"

"Aahhhh!" yelled Cerise in an outburst of frustration. She pushed Draco away from her and walked to a trunk at the foot of her four-poster bed. Cerise dug around in it for a second and then pulled out a fresh blouse. She put it on.

"Hey, don't do this to me!" Draco protested. The black buttonless blouse flew at him in a high arc.

"You better fix that," Cerise said and left Dray standing there, dumbfounded.

Draco stuffed the blouse into his robes. Hermione would have to help him with this. Repairing blouses was not exactly his specialty. He heard Cerise stomping angrily down the girls' dorm stairs. Plucking his wand from his sleeve, Draco shouted "_Evaporis_!" to rid the room of candles.

"_Rosa Nori_!" he yelled, pointing at Cerise's four-poster. Black roses rained all over it. Then he turned and left the room.

Draco met Blaise in the Slytherin common room. With a heavy sigh, he took a seat next to his old pal.

"Having problems with your chick?" Blaise inquired bluntly.

Draco scowled. "I believe you mean 'woman.' Why?"

"The lady of fury just stomped out this way," Blaise gestured with his thumb over his left shoulder.

"I thought so," Dray nodded.

Blaise looked at him in surprise. "Is there something wrong?" he asked.

"Not at all," Draco answered, wishing for a cold alcoholic drink. Little did he know that his prayers were about to be answered.

"You're going to the Halloween party tonight, right?"

Draco slapped his forehead. Damn selective amnesia. "I completely forgot about _that_."

***                            *                          ***

"What's up?" Phebe asked Terry, who was sitting in the common lounge with Jack McFelton, a fellow Hufflepuff. They were absorbed in the scrutiny of a college brochure.

"Check this out!" Terry yelled, whisking the booklet out of Jack's hands and waving it in Phebe's face.

"What's this?" Phebe asked.

"Mystweed!" exclaimed Terry excitedly. "It's a college in the Netherlands!"

"Aha," Phebe said. Hermione appeared in the doorway. She spotted them and made her way over.

"Hi," she said.

"Look," Terry said, proudly.

"What is it?" Hermione asked. She glanced at the pamphlet. "Mystweed? The Netherlands? Doesn't sound very prestigious." She sniffled. "What are you going to study?"

Terry found it impossible to answer as he and Jack were busy trying to stifle their laughter.

"What are you planning to study, Terry?" Hermione repeated her question.

"Herbology," Phebe answered for him.

"She .. doesn't get it!" Jack managed to choke.

"Well, I was going to leave anyway," Hermione announced.

"See ya," Phebe waved.

"She doesn't get it!" Jack laughed.

"Oh gawd!" Terry piped up.

"So what are you up to today?" Phebe questioned Jack.

"Freegliding," Jack grinned, "I got a sponsor!"

"Who would that be?" Phebe asked, yawning.

"Kitus Broomstick Paraphernalia," explained Jack. "They sponsor _three_ other freegliders."

"Hey, Pheebs, going to that Halloween party tonight?" asked Terry.

"Hmm, dunno, are you?" Phebe wondered.

"Yeah, me and Jack are going to be bartenders," Terry smiled proudly. "We're just perfect for the job."

"And modest, too," Phebe smiled.

***                            *                          ***


	4. Chapter 4: Strangers at Halloween

**HPFF(4)**

Phebe was boring her way through ADADA, politely ignoring Wera's random ranting when there was a knock on the door. Professor Finstad hesitantly stopped his lesson.

"Come in," he said, clearly annoyed at the interruption.

"Hello?" said a shy voice. Its owner stepped into the room. He had short, light brown hair and sideburns. His eyes were a dark blue. "Uhm, hi," the cute teen said nervously. The class stared at him. "My name is Xelan Enadio," Xelan cleared his throat. Professor looked at him expectantly. "I'm .. your .. _intern_?" Xelan half-stated, half-asked the professor.

"Oh," said the elvin teacher. "I suppose you are."

_Hmmm_, Phebe thought, eyeing the new arrival, _he's pretty cute_.

"Oh!" whispered Wera in Phebe's ear, "Phee, he's soo hot!" Phebe nodded. An uneasy silence engulfed the room.

Professor Finstad coughed. "Well, ah, Xelan, it's good you're here."

"And you are Professor..?" Xelan asked.

"Finstad, Professor Finstad," the elf-man said. "Say, Xelan, how old are you?"

"Well, I'm practically nineteen," Xelan said, eyeing the class bashfully.

"Then you should have quite a bit of experience concerning the Defense Against the Dark Arts."

"Uhm, yes."

"What school did you go to?" Finstad queried curiously, crossing his elvish arms.

"I went to Crowdorn, that's in – "

"New Jersey!" exclaimed Finstad and clasped his hands. "I attended Crowdorn myself. A great school, really." He paused for a moment, wallowing in memory. A glaze replaced the sparkle in his eyes. "Does the dear Professor Malkin still teach History of Magic?"

"Uhm, she, uh, died last year. It was a real surprise. The History of Magic midterms had to be canceled on extremely short notice." Xelan coughed nervously. "Is there anything for me to do?"

"How curious that it was not mentioned in last month's alumni newsletter," murmured Finstad out loud to himself. "Oh, why yes. Of course. There is always something to do for _interns_. It's quite a coincidence that you are here today, because the students need some new materials." Finstad smiled his elvin smile. "They're in the closet down the hall. If you would be so kind, Ms. Hawkins, to show Mr. Enadio where it is." Phebe could feel herself blushing.

"Sh-sure," she stuttered.

"Fifteen copies of .." elvish Finstad hurried to his desk and flipped through a notebook, "Fifteen copies of _The Dark Arts Defense Catalogue_, if you please. It's a really handy spell book with protection charms," he explained to the class.

Phebe got up from her seat and walked towards the door. Xelan opened it for her. "Thanks," she whispered, smiling. "My name is Phebe," she told Xelan after he had followed her out of the class and closed the door.

"I'm Xelan," he grinned.

"So I heard," Phebe informed him. She couldn't help grinning back. "So, how long are you staying at Hogwarts?" she asked, in an attempt to start a conversation.

"Two months," Xelan said. "Do you know if there's going to be a Halloween party tonight?"

"A party? Yeah," said Phebe. "It's sort of like a big dinner in the main hall." She lowered her voice. "The _real_ party is in the seventh-years' lounge. It starts around midnight."

"Sounds good." Xelan searched the ceiling of the hallway for no particular reason. "Will, ah, you be there?"

"Hmm, yes," Phebe smiled. "Are you staying in a dorm?" she asked quickly.

"Yeah," Xelan nodded, jamming his hands into his pockets. "I guess you could call me a Gryffindor inmate."

This was news to Phebe. "Have you met any of the Gryffindors yet?"

"Uh, yeah, the House Captain. Ron." He paused thoughtfully. "And Harry Potter." Xelan glanced at Phebe to see her reaction. "He's, ah, pretty impressive."

"I know," said Phebe, feeling miserable. She didn't like the turn this conversation was taking at all. Was there any casual way to say that she and Harry were a couple? By this time, Phebe and Xelan had reached the hall closet. Xelan opened the door.

"Are you two friends?" Xelan asked nonchalantly.

"Harry and me?" Phebe said, "Yes, I guess you could call us .. friends."

"Hmm, _Dark Arts Defense Catalogue_, right?" Xelan gave her a questioning look. "How many books?"

"I think he said fifteen," said Phebe. Xelan handed her a stack of six heavy, green books. "_The Dark Arts Defense Catalogue_," read Phebe. "'The ultimate guide to self-defense.' Even reading the cover makes me feel safe." Phebe yawned sarcastically.

"To be honest, that book is a load of crap," Xelan told her. "I used it during my Junior and Senior years and I know for sure that none of the advice is really useful." He paused. "The problem is, it's all theoretical."

"I hate unpractical things," Phebe grimaced.

"Me too," Xelan agreed.

"Are you going to study somewhere next year?"

"Yes, I've had my eye on a college in the Netherlands. It's called Mystweed."

Phebe smiled. "I know. A few of my friends have an eye on it too."

"It's a law school, you know," said Xelan giving her a sideways glance. "The best lawyers in the wizarding world went to school there."

"Oh," said Phebe disappointedly, "I thought it had something to do with Herbology majoring."

"Not in the least," Xelan informer her. He grabbed his own stack of nine books and closed the closet with his foot. They began to walk slowly back to the DADA classroom. When they reached the door, Xelan turned and smiled at Phebe.

"I'm looking forward to seeing you at the party tonight," Xelan half-whispered.

"Me too," Phebe replied, but she wasn't sure if she really meant it. Phebe opened the door with her elbow.

"There you are!" exclaimed Professor Finstad. "I was almost afraid you'd lost your way." Phebe smiled bitterly at her teacher's perfectly unnecessary remark. "Would you please pass out the books?" the elf-teacher asked. Phebe did as she was told, took her seat and waited for the bell to ring.

***                            *                          ***

"What am I going to wear?!" screeched Wera. She was running around the Ravenclaw dorm room she shared with Phebe. "Can I borrow your red top?" she asked her roomie.

"Sure," Phebe said, pointing to the trunk at the foot of her four-poster bed. Sixth and seventh years cohabited with one other roomie in two-person dorm rooms.

After the Halloween feast, many of the older students had retreated to their respective Houses to prepare for the party. Some, like Jack and Vanessa, who were Halloween party committee members, were already in the multi-House lounge to put up last-minute decorations and make sure the refreshments were ready.

"What are you wearing?" asked Wera excitedly.

"All black," Phebe answered simply.

"How drab!" Wera scoffed.

"Hey!" Phebe reminded her, "It's Halloween!"

"True," Wera agreed.

***                            *                          ***

Cerise arrived at the Slytherin portrait hole after a visit to the lounge. She had skipped dinner. Instead, she helped put up a few decorations for the Halloween party, hoping Draco would be gone by the time she returned.

"Hey you," she said to a frightened-looking second-year who had just left the Slytherin common room. "Is Draco Malfoy in there?"

"Dr-dr-dr-draco?" the girl stuttered. "M-m-m-malfoy?" she gulped. "N-n-no."

"Thanks," Cerise snapped un-appreciatingly and pushed the second-year aside.

Climbing the stairs to her dorm, Cerise envisioned herself flopping lazily down on her comfy four-poster after a stressful day. She decided to think twice about flopping when she saw her bed was covered in black roses. Cerise _loved_ black roses. They were so beautiful and cryptic. She smiled to herself. Her roommate Coralie entered their dorm.

"Whoa!" Coralie exclaimed. "What's this?"

"Black roses," Cerise explained. "Draco has always been too proud to apologize."

"How sweet," commented Coralie skeptically. "I won't ask."

"Will you be sleeping here tonight?" Cerise asked innocently.

"Nope," replied Coralie.

"Ok," said Cerise, smiling to herself again, as she gathered the black roses into a big pile.

***                            *                          ***

"There you are," said Harry. He greeted Phebe with a kiss when she finally stepped out of the Ravenclaw portrait hole where he'd been waiting for her. "I was afraid you'd ditched me."

"I wouldn't do that," Phebe insisted.

"Let's go." Harry put his arm around Phebe's waist and guided her to the seventh-year lounge.

The lounge was absolutely crowded, although it was just quarter past midnight. A seventh-year Slytherin called Xelan Gattib and his band members were doing a sound check on a makeshift stage. Vanessa Roche walked onto the provisional juncture.

"_Sonorus_," she said, pointing her wand at herself. "Welcome to this year's Halloween party!" her voice boomed. "Tonight, Grayburn will be gracing us with their musical talent. At one-thirty, we'll give the guys a break and switch to old-fashioned Muggle CD's."

Xelan Gattib put an enhancing charm on his voice and said, "Let's hear a round of applause for the organizers of this event!" The present students clapped and cheered obediently. "Our first song is called 'Quasimodo.' It's a cover-version of the Muggle band Lifehouse. Enjoy!"

"I know this song," Phebe yelled to Harry over the sound that flooded the lounge."

"Do you want something to drink?" Harry shouted back. Phebe nodded.

"I'll go sit in our regular corner," she called. Phebe fought her was over to the corner where Linus, Ron, Hermione and even Cerise and Draco were sitting. They were all sipping spiked punch and Ron was telling jokes. 

"Hi!" Phebe greeted them. "Has anyone seen Wera?" Nobody had.

Harry pushed his way through the crowd to the temporary bar, manned by Terry and Jack.

"Hey!" Harry yelled.

"What's up, man?" grinned Jack.

"Hey, Harry, what can I do for you?" Terry asked.

"Got any of that Blast you made in Potions last week?" Harry inquired casually.

"Sure," Terry nodded. "How much?"

"Just dump a tube each into two cocktails."

"I only take hard cash, my friend," Terry smiled. Harry handed him a handful of coins and Terry dropped his blue magic powder into the drinks.

"Thanks!" Harry said.

"Any time," said Terry. "It's always a pleasure to do business with you." Harry fought his way back to the corner his friends had occupied. He handed Phebe a cocktail.

"Harry, I hope you didn't have this spiked," Phebe yelled.

"What?" Harry asked. "I can't hear you! It's too loud!"

"Never mind," Phebe murmured and took a sip of her drink.

"_Give me a few hours, I'll have this all figured out, if my mind would just stop racing_," sang Gattib.

Phebe emptied her glass in no time. Undoubtedly, someone had poured _something_ into it but she didn't care tonight. It was, after all, Halloween. She told Harry where she was going and headed for the bar.

"Jack!" Terry warned, "Phebe's coming! Put the Blast away!"

"Hi," yelled Phebe.

"Hello," Jack and Terry grinned innocently. "Enjoyed your cocktail?"

"You spiked it," she stated smugly.

"Did he tell you?" Terry asked, disappointed his friend had told on him. He braced himself for a lecture.

"No," Phebe surprised him, "I guess I tasted it." She looked around. "Do you have any more?"

"_Blast_?" asked Jack and Terry together.

"No, puppies on a stick," Phebe said sarcastically. The two gaped at her. "Of course I want _Blast_, you idiots!"

"_You_ want Blast?" Jack asked and stared at her open-mouthed.

"Do you have any idea what I would do for a tube of Blast right about now?" Phebe asked the stunned bartenders.

_This must be some kind of practical joke_, Terry thought. _Oh well_. "Just _one_ tube?" he asked.

"Yes, just _one_. Then I'll stop. I promise."

Terry checked the vicinity for any potential tattletales. There were none. "Ok," he said. "But you have to get it back here and if anyone asks, you didn't get it from me," Terry instructed. 

"Ok, ok, I know the drill!" Phebe said, getting impatient. She stepped around to the back of the bar. Jack handed her a tube of Blast. She inhaled the blue powder and immediately felt calmer. "How much?" she asked Terry, holding the heel of her hand to her nose.

"For you?" Terry asked. "Free." He shrugged his shoulders. Phebe had been his best client back in sixth year. He had never betrayed her secret addiction to anyone. Vanessa was the only other person who knew. Not even Harry knew about Phebe's former habit. 

"You're terrific," Phebe told Terry. "Could you pour me a cocktail?"

When Phebe returned to the corner, her head was spinning, but it felt good. Just like last year. She knew that she would at least not be consciously present if the evening turned out to be boring. Phebe plunked into her seat next to Harry. While she was gone, Xelan Enadio had appeared.

"This is Xelan," Harry introduced her.

"I know, I know," Phebe said irritably. "We've met."

"Would you like to dance?" Xelan asked her and held out his hand. Harry scowled at her.

"Sure," Phebe said and scowled back at Harry. She handed him her drink and let Xelan lead her to the dance floor. Grayburn was playing a slow song. Phebe slumped weakly into Xelan's arms.

"Phebe?" Xelan asked, peering into her face, "Have you been drinking?"

"Uh, no, not really," Phebe lied. They danced for about three minutes. Then Xelan felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Harry.

"Sorry," Harry said curtly, "I think my girlfriend has had too much to drink."

"Your _girlfriend_?" Xelan asked dubiously.

"It's not true," Phebe moaned, "I only had _one_ drink!"

"That's quite enough," Harry said, draping her right arm over his shoulder and supporting the small of her back with his left hand. He said good-bye to Xelan and searched the crowd for Vanessa. Having found her, Harry dragged Phebe over to Van.

"Have you seen Wera?" he asked her.

"Not lately," Vanessa admitted, eyeing the limp Phebe suspiciously. "What's up with her?" Harry made a drinking gesture.

"_No-ot_!" Phebe protested.

"I see," Vanessa said. "Would you like me to take her to the dorm?"

"That would be great," Harry said. He was quite angry that Phebe had managed to lose her self-control in only one hour.

"_I'm hanging by a moment here with you_!" Gattib sang, as Harry made his way over to the bar.

"Where are Jack and Terry?" he asked the brown-haired boy behind the bar. The boy shrugged. Harry stormed back to the corner.

"Have a drink," Ron suggested to Harry, seeing how jittery he was. "Calm down."

Linus had disappeared, so Harry sat wordlessly across from Hermione, Ron, Cerise and Draco, downing one alcoholic concoction after another.

***                            *                          ***

"Hello," said Phebe to Vanessa when her vision cleared.

"Don't do that!" Vanessa exclaimed. "Don't scare me like that, Phebe!"

***                            *                          ***


	5. Chapter 5: Violet Revenge: The Aftermath...

**HPFF(5)**

Linus sighed. The Halloween party was a real drag. She didn't like the music and there was no one to talk to. Draco and Cerise, as well as Ron and Mione, were busy with each other. Harry had vanished. Linus decided to go to the Slytherin common room to look for company.

In the hallway, company found her. Asher Zerrati, David Wright and Francis Maxson, all three of them seventh-year Hufflepuffs, greeted her with smiles. Asher had cropped blondish hair and blue eyes. His friend David had hazel eyes, light-brown hair and a tight-lipped grin. Francis's hair was blond and parted at the side. He had a high forehead and his eyes were an icy blue. Each of the three was always complaining to Cerise and Linus about the other two, but in reality, the girls knew the three were all profoundly fond of each other.

"Linus!" Asher greeted her, "Tell him he's crazy!" he said, laughter sparkling in his eyes as he pointed at David.

"You're crazy," Linus said obediently, glad she had found someone interesting to talk to. "Why?" she asked Asher.

"David thinks the Wasps are going to win the National Quidditch Finals this year!" Asher laughed.

"They have a good chance!" David piped up.

"That is _never_ going to happen!" exclaimed Asher. "There is _no way_ they will ever beat the Cannons!"

"They _have_ a chance!" protested David. Francis sighed and rolled his eyes.

***                            *                          ***

Janine Lowcan, wielding an instant picture camera, was very proud that she was on the year book staff. Now all the Slytherin needed was someone to take a picture of. A set of unlucky potential victims staggered down the hall towards her.

"Vanessa!" Janine yelled, "Phebe! Stay right there!" she pointed the loaded camera at the girls. "Now say cheese!"

"Forget it!" slurred Phebe.

"Janine, Phebe is in no condition worthy of preserving on a photo right now." Vanessa frowned.

"But it's for the _yearbook_!" whined Janine, as if this explained _everything_.

"No." Vanessa stood her ground. "Maybe another time."

"Oh? Its for the _yearbook_?" Phebe asked with mock-interest. "If it's for the _yearbook_, then please, go ahead." She raised her arm, turned her palm to face her body and balled all her fingers except one into a fist.

"Oh, what a _cute_ pose!" gushed Janine. "Smile!" She clicked. "What does it mean?"

"It's Muggle for _FUCK OFF_," explained Phebe rather un-placidly.

"Hey!" Janine said angrily, "You've ruined my picture!" She threw the wizard-Polaroid at them and stomped off in a huff.

"You must excuse her!" Van yelled after Janine's retreating back. "She's a little inebriated!" She shrugged and bent down to pick up the picture. Phebe bent down with her. There was nowhere else to go. "Smooth," Van said to Phebe, tucking the wizard-Polaroid into a pocket for safe-keeping. "How much did you drink at the party?"

"It was a Blast," Phebe said.

"Yeah, I know, but how much did you _drink_?"

"Just a cocktail and a half. And I had a Blast."

"I _know_ you had a _blast_," Vanessa said, "_why_ do you keep repeating it?"

"I want _more_!" Phebe pleaded.

"There is _no way_ I am taking you back to the party in this state! What is _wrong_ with you?" Van turned to Phebe and frowned at her.

"No!" yelled Phebe, "I want Blast!"

"Sounds to me like you've had _quite a few_ drinks.." stated Vanessa.

Phebe lowered her voice. "Blast," she said, "Drugs, powder."

"Are you _crazy_?!" Vanessa hissed. "I thought you got over this last year!"

"One _last_ time," Phebe begged. "And never again after. Please?"

"How did you get it in the first place?" asked Vanessa in horror.

"Harry brought me a drink," explained Phebe.

"_One_ spiked drink riled you up like this?" Vanessa scoffed. "Puh-lease!"

"No .. I go another one," admitted Phebe.

"Vanessa shook her head. "I'm disappointed in you." Phebe was silent.

***                            *                          ***

Harry had stopped counting after his sixth drink. It was a quarter to 2 AM and Grayburn had abandoned their instruments and attacked the bar instead. (And the groupies, hehehe..)

Blinking, Harry realized Draco and Cerise were gone. Harry got up and staggered towards the bar. The lounge was a little less crowded that before, but it was still not easy for the intoxicated teen to navigate.

"Harry!" yelled Jack, who'd had a couple of drinks too. "Get _over here_, man!"

"Check this," said Terry, who was suffering from a intoxication almost as severe as Jack's. "Do you know karaoke, Harry?"

"Carry what?" Harry slurred.

"It's a really funny Muggle game," explained a laughing Terry, "_Sonorus_!" He flicked his wand at Harry. "Sing!" he commanded.

"Sing what?" Harry's puzzled voice boomed. The crown in the lounge looked at him in surprise. Terry and Jack were rolling on the floor, laughing.

"Guys?" said Harry. "This sucks. Turn it off!"

***                            *                          ***

Phebe woke up the with what she thought was the sun shining in her eyes.

"Lumos!" said Wera, holding her glowing wand over Phebe's head. Phebe stirred. "Well, I think she's alive."

"A good sign," agreed Vanessa.

"Huh?" Phebe croaked. She pushed Wera's shining wand away groggily. "What time is it?"

"Uhm, it's sev – ah, _nine_," Wera stuttered.

"Did you say _SEVEN_?!" Phebe screeched, sitting bolt upright. "GET OUT! I NEED _SLEEP_!"

Wera and Vanessa fled from the dorm before Phebe woke up enough to use her wand. They decided to help the voluntary cleaning squad in the multi-house lounge.

***                            *                          ***

Harry did not want to open his eyes. His head hurt and his back hurt and he knew his eyes would if he opened them. Foolish as he was, he opened them anyway, just to make sure he could still see. He re-closed them immediately to block out the light that sent searing pains shooting through his head.

Then Harry decided to sit up, unaware of the fact that he had spent the night under a low table. The impact of his head on the underside of it made a loud "thwock" noise that rattled his skull. Once the pain subsided, Harry pondered his situation rationally and came to the conclusion that it was better to stay under the table until some kind soul came to help him out.

Unfortunately, the voluntary cleaning squad did not. David pulled Harry out from his cozy cave under heavy protest.

"Ugh," moaned Harry, feeling a wave of nausea wash over him. He staggered to his feet and searched for the exit of the lounge. Harry smacked face-first into the notice board that hung just to the right of the door, as he had opted to keep his eyes closed. He squinted them open a few millimeters and wished he hadn't.

In shock, young Potter turned away from the notice board Janine had just finished plastering with waving, flashing photos.

"Good morning!" yelled Janine cheerily.

"Do. Not. Do. _That_." Harry enunciated slowly, clutching his poor, aching head.

***                            *                          ***

Vanessa's jaw dropped to her knees when she and Wera entered the lounge.

"Harry!" she shrieked.

"Noooo!" he gasped as his hands shot up and cradled his head.

"Oh no!" Wera exclaimed, rushing to his side. "Is it your scar? Is You-Know-Who back?"

"No," said Harry, covering his face with his hands. "I have a hangover. So either speak quietly or shut up entirely." He dropped his hands. "The latter is preferred."

"Oh!" wheezed Van.

"Mmrph!"  Wera gurgled.

"What?" asked Harry, irritated. "What now?"

"Y-y-your.." Vanessa covered her mouth with both hands to suppress her laughter.

"Face!" finished Wera, gales of laughter bursting from her lungs.

"Ow!" yelled Harry, clasping his head.

"Vanessa turned to the notice board and away from her friends in an attempt to keep a straight face. It was not a good move. Janine had attacked the lounge with her instant camera after encountering Vanessa and Phebe. Janine had indeed been quite busy.

"What's wrong with my face?" asked Harry, turning to look at the photos on the wall. "Uh-oh," he mouthed. If he looked like the Harry on the Photo then it meant that..

"It's _PURPLE_!" screamed Wera, clapping her hands and thereby causing the young Potter even more headaches.

Harry's face was covered in purple pen. Studying the photos closely revealed  to the three friends that Jack, Terry and a Muggle-brand pen, a so-called "Edding," had been the evil-doers.

"Do something!" he pleaded.

***                            *                          ***

Phebe pulled the quilts over her head and snuggled deeply into the warm blankets. She sighed and drifted off into a hazy half-sleep that was interrupted by her friends crashing into the room.

"Oooooh!" wailed Phebe, feeling very sorry for herself.

"Look at _this_!" exclaimed Vanessa, Frisbee-ing an instant photograph she had filched from the notice board at Phebe.

"What the?" gasped the half-asleep teen. A purple-faced Harry cheesed and waved at her. "What in the blue fuck is this?"

"Suits him, don't it?" laughed Vanessa. Wera joined in heartily.

Phebe tossed the photo back. "This is an emergency! We need Hermione."


	6. Chapter 6: Anger, Dreams and Teen Life

**HPFF(6)**

Harry was angry. He didn't know who he was angry at, or why, but nothing mattered at the moment. He needed some time to himself to sort things out. Solitude was just what the young Gryffindor needed.

Harry opened the boys' dorm window and plunged out – after 6 years, he had his mid-air starts up to a remarkably professional level and his trusty old Nimbus 2000 cruised through the atmosphere faultlessly. He flew for a minute, observing the school grounds from a safe bird's-eye view. Harry saw tiny figures freegliding, playing Quidditch and socializing outside. Hagrid's cabin at the edge of the Forbidden Forest looked like a brown Muggle-Monopoly house.

At this point, the young seeker wondered why exactly a forbidden forest was on a school campus and why it was called "The Forbidden Forest." In his opinion, this fact supported the widespread theory that adults did not understand the desires and anxieties of adolescents. If something, _anything_, was forbidden, it was almost like a special invitation to curious teens.

Clearing his head of all thought, Harry closed his eyes and let the rushing wind fill his ears. This trance-like state of relaxation was suddenly disrupted by a feathery touch on his shoulder. Harry opened his eyes and found himself staring face-to-beak with his snowy-white owl, Hedwig. She had obviously decided to join him on his evasive cruise.

Boy and owl raced, their spirits free and soaring. Flying higher and higher, Harry and Hedwig broke through a layer of fluffy, white clouds. Hedwig flew higher and faster. Unable to keep up with the horrendous pace his pet had set, Harry tried to call her back and let her know he had forfeited. His calling was interrupted by a loud rumbling behind him. Harry glanced over his shoulder and gasped.

Never before had he ever been so close to a Muggle jumbo-jet. And unfortunately for Hedwig, she got a special, one-time-only tour through the largest of the airplane's turbines.

"Noooo!" cried Harry, watching in horror as his wing-ed friend was reduced to bits of feathers and bones. In a flash, Harry pulled his wand from his sleeve. "Zip-Locus!" he yelled, preserving the meager remains of his beloved owl in an air-tight, re-closable plastic bag.

As the Muggle jet flew on, the clear bad evilly decided to obey gravity and plunged toward the ground at a atrocious speed. The juvenile seeker lurched after it. Retrieving the bag, Harry flew back to the boys' dorm.

He clutched the bag tightly to his chest. A lengthy funeral was the least – not to mention the last – thing he could do for his faithful owl, Hedwig. And the feathery messenger surely deserved on the best of epitaphs. _To my beloved friend of six years, no, To the very cherished Hedwig, beloved and missed_..

Harry valiantly wiped a single tear from his eye. He sniffled. Then Harry realized the bag containing a few fractions of his owl had a leak. Once again, he plucked his wand from his sleeve.

"_Arctico_!" declared Harry, freezing the bag. _That_, Harry thought, _should preserve her until after finals_. Bravely, the Gryffindor stored away his frozen pal in his trunk. Then he went down to the common room to sulk in front of the fire.

Ron entered the Gryffindor common room. The redhead was chewing on his fingernails and washing them down with a cup of Muggle coffee. It did not seem to be his first.

"Harry!" yelled Ron despairingly, "Harry, have you seen Hermione lately? I've been looking for her all over!"

"No," said Harry glumly, "But I've had the _most awful_ day.."

Ron ignored him. "I haven't seen her since she left for her private animagus lessons. It's really not like her to be so late!" worried Ron.

"As I was saying," Harry said pointedly. He was very much willing to share his problems with Ron and – "Wait. _What_ did you say?"

"_It's not like her to be so late_!" repeated Ron in a panicked voice.

"No," said Harry, "since when has Mione been having animagus lessons?"

"For about three months now," said Ron, "but that doesn't matter. What _does_ matter is that _she's not here_."

"Isn't she a little young to be an animagus?" asked Harry, unaware of his lack of compassion.

"Well yes," Ron said, irritated. "She was going to be one of the youngest animagi in the country. But where is she _now_?" He looked sick with worry. "Are you absolutely _sure_ you haven't seen her?" Ron implored his friend. "Her animagus shape is a white owl – "

"_WHAT_?!" shouted Harry, who was very unsettled by this discovery. What if Hedwig had not really been Hedwig but .. Harry did not let himself finish his thought. It was just too gruesome. "Come with me!" he commanded, grabbing Ron by his sleeve and dragging him to the Owl Tower.

"What _are_ you doing?" snorted Ron, out of breath and temper.

Harry stared in shock at his snowy owl Hedwig, who was busy fluffing up her feathers. This meant that..

"Hermione is dead," Harry whispered inaudibly.

***                            *                          ***

Harry woke up bathed in cold sweat. Ron was sleeping peacefully in the four-poster at the other end of the room and snoring loudly to prove it. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Harry got out of bed. He began to pace the room. What did this mean? Why was he dreaming about his friends' deaths? It was a clear premonition and it was never a good sign when people started dying in Harry's dreams.

***                            *                          ***

"Must I remind you," Hermione reminded Phebe, "that he has _not_ had the best of childhoods? It is natural that he was a few, well, _mental_ glitches. How do you expect someone who has lived in a closet for the first ten years of his life to be totally normal?"

"I know," said Phebe, who knew everything about the cupboard, the cousin and the godfather, who was a pardoned Azkaban prisoner and Harry's legal guardian. "I don't expect him to be normal."

"He was no regular, standard-issue child, You-Know-Who made sure of _that_. And he is no ordinary adolescent. Harry's famous, for godsakes! He _has_ been since his parents were killed and he didn't even know it! You don't seem to _understand_ that. Honestly, sometimes I think you are – " _just totally wrong for him_, Hermione finished in her head. "– forgetting these things," she said out loud.

Phebe's left eyebrow shot skyward. She knew Hermione's tolerance for her was limited, but she had no idea how very constrained it really was.

"Well than," said Hermione, gathering her books in preparation to leave the library. "I guess I'll see you later." With that, she off towards the Gryffindor dorms.

"_That_," declared Vanessa, who had been sitting mutely and listening to Hermione's and Phebe's conversation, "was very revealing."

"Make that re-_veiling_," corrected Phebe. "She is definitely hiding something."

***                            *                          ***

"What would you consider revolutionary and innovative?" Vanessa asked Phebe thoughtfully. The girls were eating artificial cookies they had just learned a spell for in Home Economagics. The cookies were not very good.

"I would think it revolutionary if Terry said something intelligent for a change," Phebe said. "Remind me to never even attempt to make cookies again in my life," she added, putting the cookie down and grimacing.

"Hmmph," agreed Vanessa, swallowing the last mouthful of a hateful cookie.

"Well, what do _you_ consider innovative?" inquired Phebe.

"The words International Wizarding Network come to mind," hinted Vanessa.

"Oh? Has the Diggory Memorial Fund gotten anywhere with that?"

"Sure! The DMF is on the verge of installing the first connection right in the library." Vanessa smiled proudly.

***                            *                          ***

Phebe succeed in avoiding all things Gryffindor for two consecutive days by skipping meals periodically and avoiding popular meeting places until Monday morning. Phebe had not been steering clear of Ron, Hermione and Harry for any particular reason – it just had been sort of a experiment to see if she _could_. On Monday, the Ravenclaws had Arithmancy with the Gryffindors.

Remus Lupin, their were-wolfish Arithmancy teacher, droned on and on about Merlin, the world, and why the sky was blue. Phebe found her thoughts wandering. She drifted into a daydream. In her mind, it was Thursday; she had Advanced DADA with Professor Finstad – and _Xelan_.

The Phebe felt an ungentle jab on her arm. She had Vanessa and Wera sitting on either side of her and not only were her two friends staring at her, the whole class followed suit.

"Ms. Hawkins?" Lupin's voice dripped with sarcasm. "Are you _mentally_ present at the moment?" Phebe blushed. It was not exactly the perfect start into her day.

After class, she rushed out the door but she was not fast enough as Harry caught up with her and out his arm around her waist.

"Morning, Pheebs," he said with a faint smile.

"Morning," mumbled Phebe.

Harry cut to the chase. "Where've you been? Have you been avoiding me?" he asked.

"Well, no," Phebe lied. "I've just been pretty busy recently."

"Listen," he said quickly, "I feel really bad that I've been neglecting you lately."

"You've probably had loads of work to do, too," Phebe excused him.

"No," objected Harry, "That's not it. I could have made time for you. I could have tried."

Phebe shrugged. "It's ok. It's not your fault."

"Do you feel like going to the library now?" asked Harry.

"Not really," Phebe admitted, "The lounge would probably be more interesting."

"I have a _better_ idea," grinned Harry.

***                            *                          ***

The Owl Tower was a little drafty. Come to think of it, _all_ of Hogwarts was drafty. It was, after all, mid-November. 

"Surprise!" said Harry.

"What?" Phebe looked around. They were surrounded by stone walls, feathers, and owls of all shapes and sizes. Nothing out of the ordinary.

"I went to check on Hedwig this morning and I noticed Toffy had some mail for you. I would have brought it to you," said Harry apologetically, "but Toffy tried to bite me."

"My owl has always been .. _slightly_ .. overprotective," Phebe explained. "However, he is also easily bribed." She took a bar of chocolate from her pocket and unwrapped it. Phebe handed the chocolate to Harry. "Go ahead."

Harry fed Toffy the chocolate and then untied the parchment from his leg. "It's from Sabrina," he announced.

"Yes!" Phebe clapped her hands excitedly. "It's been a while since I got mail from her!"

"I had the feeling it would cheer you up," said Harry, handing her the parchment. "You've seemed a little depressed lately."

The two made their way to the lounge, Harry guiding Phebe, who had her nose buried in the parchment from Sabrina.


	7. Chapter 7: New York Returns

**HPFF(7)**

"Oh, Phebe," said Harry.

"Oh, Harry," said Phebe.

"Oh bother!" said Ron, bursting out of the closet in the empty Arithmancy classroom. "I really think I should go now."

Phebe and Harry froze in their passionate embrace. Ron shuffled nervously to the door.

"W-what are you doing here?" sputtered Harry.

"I was, er, looking around a bit when I heard someone coming. I thought it might be a teacher," Ron shrugged, embarrassed, "So I hid in the closet."

"Right," nodded Harry. "Bye then."

"Well .." Ron looked around uncertainly. "Oh, whatever," he mumbled.

"What _now_?" asked Harry exasperatedly.

"_Hermione_!" bellowed Ron. Hermione emerged from the closet. She smiled sourly, grabbed Ron's arm and dragged him out of the classroom. The door slammed shut behind them.

Phebe and Harry looked at it in silence for a moment.

"Don't you want to check if there's anyone _else_ in that closet?" asked Phebe with a hint of sarcasm.

Harry snorted. "_No_."

***                           *                         ***

"So," said Professor Finstad. "Does anyone know the answer to this problem?" His eyes were fixed on Wera. A small smile played across his lips.

"Hmmm," Wera said, gazing back.

"The answer," Finstad said absently, "is not in my eyes, Ms. Ghrandol."

***                           *                         ***

"_That_," Wera exclaimed," was the most _realistic_ dream I ever had!"

"Realistic my _foot_," mumbled Phebe.

"Oh, stop it!" Wera sneered haughtily. "I know he wouldn't ever say something like that in _class_."

"_In_ class?" Phebe asked curiously. "What about _outside_ of class?"

"Well .." Wera smirked.

"Uh-oh," said Phebe, not sure she wanted to hear the rest of this.

"He's very _different_ outside of class," Wera explained dreamily.

"You know, if you're saying what I think you're saying," Phebe shook her head, "Then it could cost him his job."

Wera pouted.

"I'm not judging you," Phebe said, flipping her palms skyward.

***                           *                         ***

"Aaaaaaah!" yelled Phebe, charging at Sabrina Lefler and Vanessa Precious. "Aaaaah! You're _back_!"

"Mmmpf! agreed Sabrina, muffled by Phebe's arms. Phebe pulled out of the embrace and threw herself at Vanessa Precious. She beamed at her returned friends.

Sabrina sputtered and daintily plucked a fuzzle that had attached itself to her mouth. Vanessa smiled. (Vanessa Precious = Nessa or Vanessa One, Vanessa Roche = Van or Vanessa Two)

***                           *                         ***

Terry Mada and Jack McFelton sat in the seventh-years' common lounge with twin looks of despair plastered on their faces.

"Hello," Phebe said, getting no answer. She waved her hand in their line of vision.

"Stop," mumbled Terry, pushing her hand away and continuing to stare intently into space. Jack followed suit.

"What's wrong?" asked Phebe, worried.

"Nothing," sighed Jack. "Just depressed."

"Oh," said Phebe, not sure what to say. "Why?"

"Hmmm," hummed Terry. Phebe decided any further comment would be a complete waste of breath. She left the lounge for the library.

At the door, Izzy Mortimer grasped Phebe by her arms. This was pretty difficult as she was simultaneously clutching a stack of papers.

"Aaah!" yelled Isabella, "I have _so much_ work!"

"Hmm," said Phebe, as Izzy pushed her back into the lounge. She dragged Phebe over to where Jack and Terry were moping.

"I need company," explained Izzy, throwing down her stack of documents and getting another panic attack.

Phebe sighed. She had nothing better to do anyway. Phebe glanced at Jack and Terry who were still slouching around, brimming with self-pity. Then Phebe noticed with surprise that Jack was clutching a crumpled piece of paper in his left hand.

"What's this?" asked Phebe, plucking it from him. She skimmed through the crinkled paper. It was obviously a letter, written in rounded cursive. "It's in French," said Phebe, stating the obvious.

"It's from Anaïse," Jack heaved a sigh.

"Ana-who?" Phebe asked, puzzled.

"Anaïse," said Terry, taking control of the situation and explaining for his suffering friend. "His _ex_-girlfriend."

"Oh," nodded Phebe, reading the letter again. 

_Cher Jack,_

_I am très desolée to say: c'est fini! It's over, as you would say, en anglais. __J'ai un autre. You are un garçon très sympa, mais you are too far away, trop loin, chéri! C'était pas possible de continuer notre liaison!_

"So, what does it say?" interrupted Terry.

"You haven't read it?" Phebe asked, turning to Jack.

"No. It's in _French_. I can't read _French_." Jack frowned. "What I _did_ get is that she _dumped_ me."

"What does it _say-ay_!" Terry badgered.

"Well," said Phebe, whose knowledge of French was just a little more than Terry and Jack's combined. "She says she's sorry, but it's over."

"Duh," scoffed Terry. "We got _that_."

"She says you're a very nice boy, Jack, but you live too far away," Phebe continued, opting to censor the part that stated clearly that Anaïse had a new boyfriend. "And that it's impossible to continue your relationship over such a distance."

"Wow," said Jack unenthusiastically. "It's the first time I've ever been dumped by post and I can't read it."

"So tell me about this Anaïse person," prompted Phebe.

"She cheated on me. And as you see, she just dumped me," said Jack glumly.

"Ouch," said Phebe, handing him the fateful letter.

"And she's from Beauxbatons," added Terry, pronouncing it "box-battons," American-style.

"Explains the French," Phebe thought out loud.

"Whee!" yelled Sage Isaacs, bursting into the lounge. Vanessa Roche followed her in, quieter, but her face was adorned with a smug smile. "Guess what?!"

"What?" asked Phebe obediently, sure that nothing would surprise her anymore today.

"Molotov is going to be playing in Hogsmeade in about two months!" Sage clapped her hands excitedly. Phebe sat up, suddenly very interested.

"You're kidding!" she gasped.

"Who?" asked Terry, not because he really wanted to know, but because it seemed like the right think to say.

Van ignored him. "It's on the thirteenth," she said.

Phebe grabbed Izzy's log and flipped through it. "A Friday!" she exclaimed.

"Oh goody!" Sage clapped her hands again.

"Hmm .." said Van thoughtfully, "Isn't there some superstition ..?"

"I won't say it," Phebe protested, "I won't take your bait."

"My bait?" asked Van with mock innocence, knowing perfectly well what Phebe meant. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"You want me to say 'It's just a stupid Muggle superstition.' And I won't." Phebe rolled her eyes.

"Nooo," denied Van, smiling.

"Pshh," vociferated Phebe.

"So, you wanna go?" Sages asked excitedly. "Come on, come on!"

"Hmm," said Phebe.

"It'll be fun!" Sage assured her.

"Hmm," said Phebe again, checking her mental calendar. Hadn't she planned something with someone on some Friday the thirteenth? Hmm, oh well. "Sure," she said.

"Yay!" exclaimed Sage. "Now all I need to do is get the tickets .. and some earplugs."

"Why?" asked Terry. (Not because he wanted to know but because it seemed like the right thing to say.)

"Shut up!" snapped Phebe, not being a very patient person.

"My ears," explained Sage, covering them with her hands, "are very sensitive."

"SO you need the earplugs to filter the sound," finished Phebe. Sage nodded, still clutching her ears.

"Ah, guys," said Vanessa. Sage and Phebe turned to face her. "We – have a little – problem."

"And what would that be?" asked the impatient Phebe.

"Well, the weekend of the concert is Hogwarts Anniversary Day," Van reminded those, who, unlike _her_, were not members of forty-something knowledgeable school clubs and committees.

"Screw that," Phebe said quickly. "I always forget birthdays anyhow."

"Yeah," agreed Sage, "It's not like they can _make_ us party."

"No," said Van with the air of one who knew almost everything and was respected for it. "But they can make us _stay_." She turned towards the pin board that was still covered with Janine's Halloween Polaroids and additionally clustered with the usual array of notices and advertisements. Van fished her wand out of her pocket. "_Proximus_!"

In a flash, a white piece of parchment detached itself from the notice board and flitted comfortably into Vanessa's open hand.

"Being magic sure makes _some_ people pretty darned lazy," Phebe remarked sarcastically and was instantly swatted lightly on the back of her head. "Yow!"

"Hogwarts Anniversary Day Weekend," read Van.

"_That_ makes a lot of sense," snorted Phebe.

Ignoring her, Vanessa continued. "February thirteenth and fourteenth. Students are to stay on campus in their dorms, the library or the common rooms. Festivities will begin at seven pm in the Great Hall."

"Huh?!" exclaimed Phebe. "Since when can't we go off campus on H.A.D.? Has Dumbledore slightly lost the last bit of mind he has left?"

"Shh!" hissed Sage, clapping a hand over Phebe's mouth. "That's not a very nice thing to say!"

"Mmpf!" Phebe protested, shoving Sage's hand away. "Blech! What class did you just have?"

"Herbology," said Sage casually. "We were working with Sulpher-roots. Maybe I should have washed my hands .."

Phebe promptly went into a coughing and sputtering fit. "GROSS!"

"I was kidding!" exclaimed Sage, trying to suppress her laughter.

"Ahem," Van ahem-ed. "We need to resolve this."

"The campus problem?" queried Phebe, scowling at Sage.

"That and how to get out," Van said. "I suppose we could, well, _sneak_ out."

"Good plan, Sherlock," smiled Phebe, as she ducked another reprimanding smack.

"This is _serious_," Sages reminded her. "I really want to see Molotov."

"I'll think of something," Phebe shrugged. "If all else fails, we can always get in touch with the infamous Weasley twins."

"Whatever it takes," said Van.

***                           *                         ***

That evening at 11 pm, Phebe sighed and gathered her books and papers. She had been sitting in the lounge since 9 pm, trying to catch up on some Potions work. It was impossible to concentrate in the Ravenclaw common room, so she had retreated to the lounge instead. Phebe yawned, wondering if it was lethal to have only three hours of sleep per night for an extended period of time.

She was the only one left in the lounge (not counting the twelve House-elves that were dusting a rack of spell books in the corner). Phebe was not looking forward to the piles of application forms and brochures she had in her dorm that were waiting to be sifted through. It would probably take until one am.

The halls were dimly lit and, in Phebe's opinion, completely creepy. But what did her opinion count? She was too lazy to join the Muggle Convenience Committee to rally for electricity in Hogwarts. Dumbledore, though the Muggle-lover he was, would probably never consent to that anyway.

Back in the dorm, Phebe shuffled through the applications absently and watched Wera get ready to go somewhere.

"Why are you getting to dressed up?" asked Phebe, eyeing her friend's tight top, short skirt and stylish sneakers.

"Oh, _out_," murmured Wera, pulling a tie loosely around her neck to add the finishing touch to her fashionably sloppy academic style.

"I wonder," said Phebe, not wondering at all and turning back to her forms.

A few minutes after Wera had left, Phebe realized she'd left her calculator, a Muggle artifact she needed for a presentation the next day, in the lounge.

"Better go get that," she told herself. Creeping stealthily through the eerie hallways, Phebe hummed to herself to cover the uneasy silence that spread like thick fog around her. She did not like silence at all.

"_You don't have to bother_," she sang softly. _I hope I don't run into anything_, Phebe thought when, surprise, surprise: she _did_. Phebe gasped, looking around the empty corridor. The she heard a familiar snicker.

"That was _not_ funny, Harry," she huffed, leaning against the sturdy castle wall to catch her breath.

"Aw, can't you take a joke?" Harry smiled, pulling off the Cloak of Invisibility. "I was just having a little fun."

"Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn," said Phebe eloquently. "And no, I cannot take a joke. Not when it's dark and late and creepy."

"Where are you off to?" asked Harry.

"The lounge," said Phebe. "Forgot my Muggle artifact."

"Hmm," hummed Harry.

"Yep," said Phebe. "Where are you going?"

"I was going to look for you," Harry grinned.

"I'm very busy right now," Phebe excused herself. She motioned down the hall. "Can we walk in the general direction of the lounge? I need that artifact."

"Sure," said Harry, taking her hand. They walked to the lounge in silence.

"Locked," said Phebe, stating the obvious as she tugged at the lounge door.

"_Alohomora_," said Harry as the door clicked. "Unlocked." He slapped his forehead. "I forgot! I still need to go post a letter. See you in the morning!" He pecked Phebe on the cheek and dashed off, presumable destination: Owl Tower.

"Thank you for leaving me here in the dark," said Phebe to thin air. "_Lumos_!" Phebe's wand sparked a few times and finally glowed, spreading a greenish – yet comforting – light around her. She reminded herself to go to the wand repair shop in Hogsmeade some time soon. She stepped gingerly into the sinister lounge.

Twenty-four glistening ovals glinting in the distance shocked Phebe, until she figured they probably belonged to the House-elvish cleaning staff. She snatched her contemporary Muggle relic off the desk by the wall and got the heck out of there. The empty lounge sure looked scary at night. Firmly pulling the door shut, Phebe crammed through her memory for a locking charm but when she was confronted by the utter chaos of her thoughts, she gave up and hurried back to the dorm.

Turning around and particularly dark corner, she collided with Cerise, who seemed to be in a very foul mood.

"Cherry!" Phebe exclaimed.

"Hi," said Cerise, sounding slightly belligerent.

"Something wrong?"

"No," Cerise paused. "Yes."

"What?"

"It's complicated," Cerise said, shaking her head.

"So you don't want to tell me?" Phebe asked.

"Not now," admitted Cerise. "What are you doing here?"

"Long story," said Phebe. Then a very unnerving thought bubbled in her mind. "Cherry," she gulped, "What would twelve House-elves be doing in a locked room in the middle of the night?"

"What?" asked Cerise, confused.

"The door to the lounge was locked when I got there. Something was in the lounge," Phebe gasped and clutched her Muggle calculator closely to her chest. "I assumed it was a group of House-elves – but what if it wasn't? The lounge is _unlocked_ now .."

"Why wouldn't the lounge be locked?" asked Cerise dubiously.

"I forgot the charm," explained Phebe, chewing on a fingernail and worrying that, any second now, a herd of Gremlins could come and attack her.

"Ack," said Cerise, slapping her forehead. "There are chutes and tunnels and tiny secret doors that the House-elves use to get around Hogwarts. The faculty locks the classrooms at night but the House-elves can still get around in their little system."

"Phew," said Phebe, removing her ruined nail from her mouth and wiping her brow.

"Didn't you read –"

"_Hogwarts: A History_," Hermione finished for Cerise. She had crept up to them unnoticed.

"You scared me!" Phebe gasped. "What are you doing here?"

"I've gotten locked out of the dorm," explained Hermione. "The Fat Lady went for a visit to another portrait so I decided to take a walk."

"She's probably back now," Cerise pointed out.

"I don't know the new password." Hermione shrugged. It was really not like her to be so unorganized. Phebe felt a pang of sympathy well up inside her. After all, she herself been locked out of her own dorm overnight numerous times before.

"You can stay in my dorm," she offered.

"Thank you," said Hermione, really sounding grateful. "I thought I'd have to spend the night on the prowl." Hermione's eyes looked a little moist. "I'm glad I found you."

_Hmm_, thought Phebe, _maybe Mione is human after all_.


	8. Chapter 8: Pre Christmas Escapades

**HPFF(8)**

Sage Isaacs riffled nervously through her notebook. She drummed her fingers on her temples. "Sage, what did you do with your Arithmancy homework?" she said, her big blue eyes widening. "This is not cool."

"Hmm," said Phebe.

"We don't have Muggle Studies today," Eavan Lesse informed Phebe, Sage and Bliefta Jamage.

"We don't?" asked Sage eagerly.

"_I_ don't," the Ravenclaw corrected herself.

"Blech," added Phebe. "I have a double hour of ADADA now."

"Blech?" Sage asked, as Van Roche entered the library and sat herself down next to Phebe.

"What's blech?" queried Van.

"Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts," Bliefta said formally. The Hufflepuff head-boy smiled.

"Oh, Pheebs, you don't like ADADA?" Van was puzzled. "I thought you did. Or is it F –"

"No, it's Wera. She's always drooling over _Finstad_ and it's getting pretty annoying. I think I'll skip today." Phebe put on her best pouty face.

"Uh-uh," sad Van, shaking her head. "You need to pass this course."

"I know who's _definitely_ passing this semester," Phebe said evilly.

"Hmm?" said Van. Bliefta, Eavan and Sage leaned in closer. "What do you mean?"

"Well," said Phebe smugly.

"Oh, don't say it!" Van exclaimed, putting her hands over her ears. "I have the feeling I don't want to hear this!"

"And I have the feeling I do," said Eavan matter-of-factly. "Do go on."

"Go to class," Van suggested, "You need the credits."

"Blah," said Phebe, gathering her books. "Later, everyone."

"Good-bye," said Bliefta in his formal way.

***                            *                          ***

Phebe sighed and forced her feet to keep moving in the direction of the ADADA classroom. She hoped that she would run into someone, anyone, who she could hang out with instead of going to class. Phebe was in no mood for warding off curses at all. She encountered none of her friends on her seemingly endless walk. The halls of Hogwarts had chosen this day to be perfectly empty of any of Phebe's acquaintances, except for a few annoying first-years.

Sighing, the Ravenclaw entered her ADADA class. For the first time this school year, she was not late. On the contrary, Phebe actually seemed to be early. She looked around the room. Finstad had not arrived yet. Two other Ravenclaws, both artificial blonds, were filing their long, pink fingernails and discussing the hotness of Professor Finstad in degrees. Phebe turned what she called 'a blind ear.'

When the door opened, Phebe spun around to see who it was, thinking finally Wera or another of her friends had arrived.

It was Xelan Enadio. He had opened the door and was leaning into the classroom, his left arm resting on the door handle. In his other arm, he held – Cho! Xelan and Cho appeared to be _kissing_. Phebe stared at them in shock. Then she felt a pang of – was it? – _jealousy_?

Blushing, she turned back to her books and began to stack them. She flipped through the pages absently, staring into space.

After Cho had left, Xelan walked down to the front of the classroom, ignoring Phebe completely. Her eyes followed him to an extra desk, set just a little apart from Finstad's, that hadn't been there last week. Xelan sat down and made himself comfortable. Phebe raised a book to eye-level so she could steal shy glances over the top at him.

Xelan whipped out a Muggle cell phone. He was completely engrossed in it and Phebe was totally absorbed in watching him when the gong sounded. Xelan looked up. Their eyes met for a split second. Phebe looked away and hid behind her book, feeling heat and redness creeping up her neck and taking over her cheeks. Then she wondered where exactly Wera was.

By this time, the majority of the class had arrived. The only other person missing seemed to be Finstad.

Several minutes later, the aforesaid teacher stomped into the room, obviously in a foul mood, and began with the lesson before he had even sat down.

***                            *                          ***

Phebe stomped into the seventh-year lounge and tossed all but one book on the table in the secluded corner. Without a word, she plunked heavily into a chair next to Nima Thodridge.

Nima was a dark-haired, round-faced Ravenclaw. She had rosy cheeks, big brown eyes, a tendency to be violent and a ready smile for everyone.

"What's wrong?" she asked with concern, putting down a Muggle novel she had been reading.

Phebe looked up from her ADADA textbook. "Oh, nothing, except for the fact that Finstad decided to take his frustration out on us students in the form of a _twenty-page reading assignment_!"

Nima winced sympathetically. "That's pretty bad."

"And have you seen Wera?" Phebe added. "I can't believe she skipped ADADA." She glimpsed at the title of Nima's book. "Is that for class?"

"No.." said Nima.

"She would so _not_ skip that class." Phebe sighed. "Wera would just not skip, I know that. Unless.." A thought his Phebe mentally across her forehead. "Duh!"

"Huh?" asked a confused Nima.

"I'll explain later!" Phebe said, grabbing her books and rushing off. Suddenly, it had all made sense: Finstad's mood, Wera's absence..

"Ok," said Nima, turning back to the Muggle fantasy bestseller she had been reading before Phebe had arrived. Muggle fantasy novels were _so_ entertaining.

Phebe ran down the hall, around a corner, up stairs. Was Wera in the dorm? What if she hadn't been in class today because she'd had a fight with Finstad? Or was Phebe totally wrong about Wera having an affair with their teacher?

She was jogging up a marble staircase when Xélan Poudlard, a seventh-year Gryffindor, stopped her.

"Oh, hi!" he said.

"Hi, Xélan, I'm in a hurry," Phebe said, out of breath.

"Tell me about the Home Economagics homework we had," said Phebe's French classmate. He lifted his right hand and patted his unruly, curly light-brown hair down.

"I'll tell you later, I really have to go now!" Phebe excused herself and took off.

The Ravenclaw dorm Wera and Phebe shared was empty. Then Phebe heard a sound from the primitive bathroom that was joined to the dorm by means of an ugly dark-wood door. Dropping her books, Phebe tried to open the door. It was locked.

"_Alohomora_!" said Phebe, flicking her wand at the barrier and thinking how very convenient it was to be a witch sometimes. She threw the door open.

Wera sat on the floor, leaning against the wall. The sleeves of her black robes were soaked from mopping up her tears. In her right hand, Wera clutched her wand. A crumpled pied of paper that looked as though it had been torn from a book was scrunched in her left hand.

Phebe kneeled down next to Wera, who dropped paper and wand and threw hr arms around her friend. As Wera cried on her should, Phebe found her eyes wandering over to the crinkly paper. What was it?

Phebe patted Wera softly on her back with her left hand. She reached out for the paper with her right. Phebe inhaled sharply when she realized what it was.

"My god, Wera!" Phebe choked with genuine shock. Wera let go of Phebe and leaned back against the wall, tears running down her cheeks. Phebe held the wrinkled scrap of paper into Wera's face. "Where did you get this?" she demanded.

Phebe had only the slightest idea about how her friend had gotten her hands on a copy of the Suicidius Curse. The only two copies in Hogwarts were in the restricted section of the library and in a master's spell book in Dumbledore's office. It was out of question that Wera had snitched the one out from under Dumbledore's nose but it was certainly possible that Wera had obtained it from the library. Wera was a real artist, excellent at faking handwriting and signatures. She had probably forged a teacher's permit to get into the restricted section.

"I can't believe it," Phebe shook her head. "You should have said something, I would have listened! You _know_ I would have listened!"

"I couldn't," croaked Wera. "I tried but I couldn't – leave all this." She gestured around weakly.

"Let me get you some tissues," said Phebe, getting up and going into the dorm room, still holding the scrap of paper in her hand. She went over to her trunk. Smoothing the Suicidius Curse and folding it into a tiny jagged-edged square, Phebe tucked it in between some folded clothes. She picked up a box of tissues and returned to the bathroom.

***                            *                          ***

"Uh-oh," said Draco.

"Hmm," hummed Cerise. Draco walked down the Slytherin common room staircase and joined Cerise in front of the fire. "What is it?" she asked.

"You knew my mother got remarried," stated Draco.

"Yes," said Cerise patiently.

"And I did tell you she was pregnant, right?" continued Draco.

"No," said Cerise. She had known that Draco's mother had gotten married again, a year and a half after Lucius Malfoy's death. However, it was new to her that Draco had a sibling underway.

"It must have slipped my mind," the blond Slytherin said and waved a roll of parchment in front of Cerise's nose.

"For nine consecutive months?" asked Cerise with a hint of sarcasm.

"Anyway, it's a boy," Draco ignored her remark.

She grabbed the parchment from him. "You would forget your own name if it wasn't tattooed on my –"

"His name is –" Draco interrupted her.

"_Klepto_?" read Cerise, laughing. "_Klepto Malfoy Lecter_? That kid is cursed from birth."

"Cerise, I .. I think I have .. a _brother_," Draco stammered, finally grasping the veracity of his situation.

"Reality bites," shrugged she, "I hope your brother does _not_."

"I am no longer an only-child," rambled Draco.

"You'll get used to it," Cerise said unfeelingly. "Besides, it's not like you're going to live at home next year. You're moving out soon."

"Yes, but I have a _brother_," insisted Draco.

"A _half_-brother," Cerise corrected him. "Is there a picture of him?"

"Oh, yes," said Draco, peeling it out from between a few pages of parchment. "But it doesn't look _right_." They studied the picture in silence. "He's so .. red and _wrinkly_. I thought babies were supposed to be soft and pink.

"Not when they're .. _fresh_," Cerise attempted to explain. "Ooh!" she squealed, as the Klepto on the picture squinted his tiny eyes open. "His eyes are a cold and ruthless blue, just like yours!" She leaned in to kiss Draco.

"Ruthless?" Draco mused teasingly, pulling back.

"Well," said Cerise, shrugging. "It just slipped out."

"Hmm," Draco buzzed, in lip lock with his girlfriend.

"You know what," he said, tugging playfully at her hair. "I always thought the next Malfoy baby would be ours."

"What?" exclaimed Cerise indignantly. "No."

"No?" asked Draco disbelievingly. "_No_ as in _no, not now_, or _no_ as in _no, not ever_?"

"Not ever," stated Cherry.

"No kids?" Draco's pale blue eyes pleaded.

"_None_. _Never_." Cerise had definitely made up her mind.

"What if it's a Slytherin Heir?" he said hopefully. "The ultimately evil bundle of joy."

"No." Cerise crossed her arms. "I'm sixteen. I refuse to discuss this anymore. You can bring this up again when I'm twenty-five."

"But –" Draco started.

"Shh," Cherry shushed him and smothered his next comment with a passionate kiss.

***                            *                          ***

"Look at this!" exclaimed Sabrina and waved a pale, ornate wand in Phebe's face. They were sitting in the Ravenclaw common room. Phebe was warming her feet at the fire and flipping through a brand new copy of _TeenWitch_. "Ten inches, white birch, with a core of diamond splinters. It's perfect for me!"

"What happened to your other one?" asked Phebe.

"Well, it's never been exactly _ideal_ for me," Sabrina began. "First of all, it was not made for a lefty."

"Oh," said Phebe, remembering that Sabrina was left-handed. "That does give you a certain disadvantage, doesn't it?"

"Oh yes!" said Sabrina, relieved someone understood her problem. "In New York, I went to all sorts of really cool, small shops in the wizarding neighborhood. That's where I found a lefty wand store!" She studied her wand with proud scrutiny. "I really quite like this one."

"It suits you," agreed Phebe, taking the wand and examining it closely. "It's so light and graceful." She handed it back to Sabrina.

"Paradoxly, I found _this_ in one of the _darkest_ corners of Middlerthlyn. She smiled. _Paradoxly_? thought Phebe. _What's that mean? Note to self: go look it up._ "Not that the rest of the neighborhood _isn't_ dark. Did you know that the Stuyvesant School of Magic is spread over ten stories?" Phebe shook her head. "And they're all underground."

"Sounds .. dark," said Phebe un-cleverly.

"Well, there was light, though it was artificial. It drove me quite insane," Sabrina confessed. "But there is no other place Middlerthlyn could be. The only space left in New York City is underground, beneath the subway tracks and stations. Come to think of it, the _whole_ wizarding neighborhood is artificially lit."

"How depressing," said Phebe. An image of Wera telling her about her fight with Professor Finstad flashed into Phebe's mind. Now _that_ was a truly disheartening moment.

"Hello-o?" quizzed Sabrina, snapping her fingers in Phebe's face to get her attention. "Anyone home?"

"Ye-yes," stuttered Phebe. "Sorry. It seems like I live in daydreams lately."

"That's _so_ poetic!" cried Sabrina. "Sort of makes me want to quote that Muggle playwright, Shakesrum." She put the back of her left and gracefully to her forehead. "'True, I talk of dreams – Which are the children of an idle brain!'"

"Ahem," coughed Phebe, "I believe you meant Shakes_peare_."

"Oh, yes, _beer_, I knew it was something along the lines of _that_." Sabrina smiled.

"I'm glad you're back," said Phebe, hugging her friend.

"Me too!" Sabrina grinned again.

The portrait hole, that provided an entrance to the Ravenclaw common room, opened, and an awed-looking third year walked in. She was followed by young Potter.

"Thank you," Harry said to her. He walked over to Phebe and Sabrina. "Hello."

"Tisk, tisk," Phebe tisked. "You know the rules. _No Gryffindors_ in the _Ravenclaw_ common room."

"You have been making yourself exceedingly scarce on neutral territory," explained Harry self-righteously.

"You could at least have had the decency to tuck in your scarf," scolded Sabrina and pointed to the scarlet-and-gold-striped horror Harry had wrapped around his neck.

"I'd like to talk to you," Harry stated his mission. Phebe thought it sounded rehearsed.

"What about?" asked she casually, returning to her _TeenWitch_ magazine. Harry coughed, eyeing Sabrina.

"I think I have to _go_ now," sniffled Sabrina, feeling very unwelcome indeed. "Bye." She gave a slight wave and trudged up the dorm stairs.

Phebe frowned crossly. "That was very selfish of you," she told Harry. "Does it occur to you that this is my first full week together with Sabrina since she left four months ago?"

"It's important," protested Harry.

"Ok. Shoot," Phebe prompted him. She put down her magazine.

"Well," started Harry. "Actually I just wanted to spend some time with you."

"Aw," said Phebe, wondering why Sabrina had to leave in order for Harry to tell her this. "That's sweet of you."

"And I .." Harry paused. "Wanted to .." He paused again. "Ask you.."

"Yes?" sighed Phebe.

"Well, what are you planning to do after school?" Harry asked.

"I don't know yet," Phebe said honestly, "I never really plan my afternoons."

"I mean after _school_, after _graduation_," restated Harry.

"Whew. I hadn't really planned quite _that_ far ahead yet." Phebe turned to face her boyfriend. "I really don't know. What about you?"

"College, probably. I want to study DADA and History of Magic. And Magical Law." Harry smiled nervously. "And maybe I want to get married." He slid his hand into his pocket. "Preferably to you." With that, he pulled a small jewelry box from his pocket and opened. A delicate white-gold ring set with a single glittering diamond sparkled up at Phebe.

"Wow," gasped Phebe, staring at the ring in a dumbstruck fashion.

"Phebe, Merry – _Merry_ Christmas," Harry said. Phebe continued to stare at the ring, speechless. "Sorry it's not wrapped. Don't you like it?"

"It's .. it's beautiful," said Phebe admiringly, finally regaining power over her voice.

"Just like you," complimented Harry.

"Aw," said Phebe. Compliments always made her feel self-conscious. "Thank you so much .. for the ring." She carefully put it on and held her hand into the light to admire the sparkle. "It's perfect," she said, giving Harry a kiss.

"I thought you'd like it," Harry smiled.

"Harry," said Phebe, clearing her throat, "You may think that because you've just given me my Christmas present that you'll get yours too." Harry shook his head innocently. "You'll have to wait until Christmas."

"Darn," he said, "It was worth a _try_." He grinned at her. "Well, I have to go now. I have to go meet some people in the lounge."

"Ok," said Phebe. "Maybe I'll see you later."

Harry snuck back out of the Ravenclaw territory and Phebe went to her dorm to put away her magazine. Wera had been very busy during Phebe's absence.

"My goodness!" exclaimed Phebe. Although she was accustomed to using profanity to express such thoughts, she had opted not to because of Wera's "delicate" condition. However, Wera's self-pity had quickly given way to phase two: _Anger_.

Wera turned away from her desk, which she had covered with a temporary fire-proof charm, and dropped a burning letter onto it.

"Hello, my dear," she smiled and greeted Phebe placidly.

"What exactly are you doing?" asked a confused Phebe.

"Burning evidence, so to speak," replied Wera calmly. "Men," she sighed, "are assholes."

Phebe nodded and excused herself. She had the feeling Wera would appreciate some privacy, so she went across the hall to Sabrina's room. She found Cerise and Sabrina curling their hair.

"What are you getting all dressed up for?" asked Phebe.

"Nothing, really. But there _is_ a committee meeting tonight," Sabrina said, releasing a strand of Cerise's hair she had wrapped around her wand. It bounced into a perfect curl. It really ruled to be magic sometimes. Phebe could not help noticing that there was a piece of paper taped to Cerise's back.

"Cherry, you've got something stuck to your back," Phebe pointed out and sat herself down on the floor. "A committee meeting? What kind of committee?"

"That's the formula for curling hair, silly," said Sabrina, pointing to the scrap she'd taped to Cerise. "You don't expect me to memorize all that, do you?"

"It's a new committee. The Elvish Culture Committee," said Cerise. She licked her thumb and turned the page of a Muggle fantasy novel she was reading. Phebe had the strangest feeling of deja-vu.

"We are planning to bring elvish culture to Hogwarts," smiled Sabrina, who claimed she was quarter elvin.

Phebe snickered. "Shouldn't you been on twenty-four hour duty now, it being Christmas and all?" she asked.

"Ha, ha," said Sabrina wryly. "You have us mixed up with Santa's Little Helpers. Elves are profoundly different. They're graceful and altogether divine. Contrary to popular Muggle legend, they do not fabricate presents year-round and they do not stand in a line and wrap them for naughty Muggle children all over the world." Sabrina paused. "No," she said triumphantly, "_We_ have a higher calling."

"Oh," said Phebe. "Well now I know. So, Cherry, is that Muggle book the one about the ring-lord?"

"The _Lord_ of the _Rings_," corrected Cerise, still engrossed in the novel.

"Exactly," Phebe said, "That's just what I meant. I think I saw Nima reading it, too."

"It's very amusing," said Cerise.

Sabrina set another flawless curl loose. "Speaking of _rings_, Phebe, what is this sparkling on your finger?" She pulled Phebe's left hand a little closer to examine the ring.

"Oh, that," Phebe grinned. "Christmas present from Harry. Flashy, huh?"

Cerise looked up from her book. "Glitzy." She nodded approvingly. "Are you guys engaged now?"

"What? No, not that _I_ know of.." Phebe said. "And I think _I_ would be the first to know. Do you think _he_ thinks we're engaged?"

"What did he say?" asked Cerise.

"Merry Christmas," Phebe shrugged. "I wonder if he meant this to be an engagement ring?"

Sabrina curled another of Cerise's locks. "It's very nice."

"Thank you," Phebe said, getting up from the floor. Both her feet had fallen asleep. "I think I'll go to the library now."

"Bye," said Sabrina, continuing her earlier practice.

"Have fun at the meeting." Phebe winked. Cerise read her book.

***                            *                          ***

Vanessa Roche and Izzy Mortimer were piled high with work at a table in the far corner of the library.

"Hello," Phebe said to them.

"Hi," said Van, glancing up from her papers. "How are you?"

"Fine. And yourself?"

"I'm surviving." Van sighed. "Sorry if I don't pay attention to you. I need to get this done."

"Ooh," exclaimed Izzy, grasping Phebe's wrist. "Do you have a new ring?" Izzy always noticed jewelry. "Can I try it on?" Without waiting for an answer, which was sure to be "yes" anyway, Izzy gently pulled it off of Phebe's finger. "It's nice," she said, admiring it on her own hand. "Where'd you get it?"

"Christmas present," Phebe explained.

"From Harry?" asked Van, who was not usually easily distracted. "Let me see." Phebe's little ring underwent another round of explicit scrutiny. "It _is_ cute."

"Well, I don't want to divert you from your work," Phebe began. Izzy smiled and handed Phebe her ring back. "Later, girls."

In the hallway, Phebe met Janine Lowcan. She stopped for a chat with the Slytherin.

"Oh!" said Janine, "I like your ring!" Janine was a real jewelry fetishist compared to Izzy, who merely _noticed_. She took Phebe's hand and held it into the light. The small diamond twinkled happily. "Is it new?"

"Yep," said Phebe. "I think I'm going to the lounge now.

***                            *                          ***

Ron was sitting in the secluded corner with Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan, Terry Mada, Jack McFelton, and Xelan Gattib when Harry trudged happily into the common lounge. He strode over to the group. Ron flashed him an 8-mile smile.

"Did she like it?" Ron asked his best friend.

"Oh _yeah_," grinned Harry, nodding. "What are you doing?" he queried, eyeing a clear bottle containing a clear liquid that was topped with a miniature red sombrero. Also on the table was a plateful of lemon slices and a pile of individually wrapped packages of salt. Several small glasses were clustered next to the bottle.

"We're playing Muggle Shots," explained Ron proudly.

"Yeah," said Terry eagerly. He was a total Muggle-game fanatic. "This is soo cool!" Gattib grinned and bobbed his head up and down in agreement.

"Can I play too?" asked Harry.

"Sure," said Ron, "Let's get started!"

***                            *                          ***

Phebe walked into the seventh-year lounge, took a magazine off a rack by the door and joined Sage, Eavan and Bliefta by the fire. She collapsed into an empty armchair and greeted her friends with a nod.

"Hi," smiled Sage, looking up from a poem she was revising.

"Hi, Phebe," said Eavan, looking up at Phebe with her large, pale-blue eyes.

"Hello," Bliefta said formally. "If you are looking for Harry, I would suggest that you follow the sound of loud laughter in the corner."

"Huh?" asked Phebe. She squinted suspiciously at Ron & Co in the far corner. "What time is it?" asked she who never wore a watch, not even a Muggle one.

Bliefta pulled back his sleeve. "It is five o'clock." He smiled.

"I can't believe they're doing shots this early in the afternoon," Phebe exclaimed. She shook her head and opened the magazine.

"Shots?" asked Bliefta quizzically, shaping his hand like a Muggle gun.

"No," clarified Sage, making an obvious drinking gesture. "_Shots_."

***                            *                          ***


	9. Chapter 9: Violent Revenge: Hermione and...

**HPFF(9)**

Harry took off his glasses and reached over Phebe to put them on her bedside table. He sighed, marveling at how soft and comfortable Phebe's dorm bed was in comparison to various other places in the ancient Hogwarts castle. Harry stroked a strand of Phebe's hair gently out of her face.

"Hmm," said Phebe. "I don't think I'm really in the mood right now."

"What?" Harry asked, caressing a path from her chin to her ear. "Your roomie's not here" – Kiss – "over Christmas" – Kiss – "and you're not" – Kiss – "in the mood?" He planted a trail of tender kisses down her neck. There was a knock on the door. "What now?" Harry wondered irritably out loud, annoyed at the interruption.

The door opened. "My goodness!" gasped Professor McGonagall. "Mr. Potter! Ms. Hawkins!"

Phebe and Harry sprang apart at once and rolled off the opposite sides of the bed.

"_First_ of all, there are no_ boys_ allowed in the _girls'_ dorm," McGonagall lectured. "_Secondly_, there are no _Gryffindors_ allowed in the _Ravenclaw_ facilities." She paused. "And I will personally drink tea with Merlin himself the day I will allow _Gryffindor boys_ in the _Ravenclaw girls'_ dorm. Potter, get _out_ before I report you to the Headmaster."

"I'm sorry, Professor," Harry stammered contritely. "I assure you, this won't happen again."

"I should hope so, Potter. Dumbledore will be less than thrilled to hear about such an incident as this." She frowned at Harry, who skee-daddled. "And _vice-versa_, Ms. Hawkins. Have I made myself clear?" Phebe nodded. Harry slipped back into the room behind Professor McGonagall.

"I'm sorry, but I seem to have forgotten my glasses," said Harry apologetically. He located them, pointed his wand at the forgotten artifact and said, "_Accio glasses_!" The Gryffindor employed the summoning charm he had perfected in his fourth year at Hogwarts. The Professor did not look impressed as the glasses flew neatly into Harry's outstretched hand. "Sorry," he nodded sheepishly at the cross-looking teacher and scuttled out of the dorm.

McGonagall shut the door behind him. Hey eyes skimmed the disorderly room for a place to sit. Phebe went to Wera's desk chair and cleared it of laundry with a sweep of her hand.

"Why don't you have a seat, Professor?" she offered, then sat down on the bed and braced herself for the lecture of the century.

Professor McGonagall sat down gingerly on the chair. "This will not be reported to Dumbledore, of course. You mustn't think you two are the first Hogwarts students to disobey these rules." She paused. Phebe heaved a mental relieved sigh. "Please see to it that I do not _catch_ you again." McGonagall's eyes twinkled momentarily. "I have not forgotten what it is like to be young." Then the sparkle disappeared. "Now then, Ms. Hawkins, the real cause for my visit concerns your roommate, Wera Ghrandol."

Phebe gasped. "Is .. is there something wrong?"

"It concerns Ms. Ghrandol and – _Professor Finstad_."

Phebe groaned inwardly. Did the _whole_ school know?

"Were you aware – at any time – of them having an .. an affair?" asked Professor McGonagall. Phebe greeted her question with silence. "There would be consequences for their choices," McGonagall elaborated. "These would include Ms. Ghrandol being suspended and Professor Finstad being discharged from his service at Hogwarts."

Phebe _hated_ euphemisms. "Not at all," she lied. Phebe did not want Wera to be suspended from school and she had no desire to see Finstad get sacked – especially if Snape was going to take over the intensive DADA course. "I've had no suspicions, whatsoever."

"I see," said McGonagall, pursing her lips. "I'm assuming I was incorrect in my supposition of the two them being involved." She looked around the messy, teen-infested room. The walls were clustered with posters and the floor was covered in a thick mat of laundry and junk food wrappers. "As long as nothing can be proven, there are no measure either I or the school can take."

"I see," said Phebe.

"However, if you could talk to Wera and call the consequences of such an event to attention," McGonagall continued, "then there should be no problem."

"I can try," Phebe said, realizing thankfully that the Professor had come to warn Phebe and not lecture her.

"Very well. I assume you will agree with me that our conversation should be held in confidence, as far as you see it possible," said Professor McGonagall, getting up from the chair.

"Of course," agreed Phebe, rising.

"And Ms. Hawkins," McGonagall added when she reached the door, "Get this mess cleaned up _immediately_."

"Yes, Professor," said Phebe obediently. She opened the door for the departing teacher. "Professor McGonagall," Phebe said. McGonagall turned to face her. "_Thank you_." The teacher smiled courteously and nodded.

Phebe flopped down on her bed after closing the door behind the Transfiguration teacher. Needless to say, she was _very_ relieved. She sat up and frowned when the door opened again.

"Hello?" she asked.

"Psst, it's me," said Harry's voice. He was obviously wearing the cloak of invisibility. "What did she want? Are we in trouble?"

"Potter," came a shout from down the hall, "I hope you are no longer in the girls' dorm!"

"No, we're not," said Phebe quickly.

"Mean old hag! How does she know I'm still in here?" mumbled Harry from under the cloak with a hint of admiration in his tone.

"Potter!" McGonagall's voice yelled, "I will take _fifty points_ from Gryffindor if you're still in there!"

"Shoot," whispered Harry and hurried out.

***                            *                          ***

"Vanessa! Help me!" cried Sage. She was pacing the library.

"What's wrong?" asked Van concernedly.

"I need to get tickets for the Molotov concert. But where?" Sage clasped her hands in anxiety. "Oh, Vanessa, we _have to_ go to that concert!"

"Relax," Van tried to assuage her. "Welcome to the wonderful world of IWN!" She pointed proudly in the direction of the one computer with IWN access the school possessed. Donny Thistle, a seventh-year Ravenclaw, and his Gryffindor friend, Billy Craven, were watching the computer screen with avid interest.

"Eye-double-you-what?" asked Sage.

"International Wizarding Network, IWN," explained Van. "You can go on the IWN and order the tickets _online_. We'll have them delivered to a post box in Hogsmeade." She grinned. "It's a piece of cake! Come on."

Vanessa guided Sage over to the PC. "Donny? Are you almost done with that?" She frowned in disgust when she caught a glimpse of the screen.

"Van? Can you tell me what's wrong with these Muggle pictures? Why aren't they moving, like normal ones?" Donny asked.

"Muggle pictures don't move," Van said. She was very glad they did not, because Donny and Billy had hacked onto what appeared to be a Muggle porn site. "This is not very appropriate at all. Get rid of it!"

"Ok, ok," Billy said, clicking out of the IWN.

"How in the world did you hack into the Muggle Network?" Van asked, bewildered.

"Oh, the advantages of being a skilled hacker are great," Donny flaunted. "Too bad the Muggle Network is not worth hacking into," he added regretfully.

"But where did you _learn_ how to hack?" Van prodded.

"Acquired skills, I suppose," Donny smiled wilily.

"Right," said Van, pushing him lightly away from the PC. "My turn."

***                            *                          ***

Hermione dropped a stack of books onto a table in the lounge. The mass emitted a thud and a cloud of dust. She wiped her hands on her robe and then sneezed.

"Oh, no," she said to Ron and Harry, bringing her hand up to her forehead. "I think I forgot my notes in the library. I'll be right back."

Harry and Ron shrugged. They sat down at the table. Ron sat diagonally across from Hermione's books and Harry sat just to the left of the immense pile. He pushed the books further toward the edge of the table with his right elbow.

"Ok," Harry said. "Now we have enough space." He took a rubber Muggle ball, roughly the size of a snitch out of his pocket and put it on the table. Harry folded his hands. "This is a rubber ball," he told Ron, who nodded attentively. "You can bounce it." Harry bounced the ball across the table to Ron. The redheaded Weasley watched it travel over the tabletop and fall off the edge.

"That's it?" he asked, taking no pains to hide his disapproval and disappointment.

"Ron!" said Harry, irritated. "You have to _catch_ the damn thing!"

"I do?" queried a puzzled Ron. He was very glad he wasn't a Muggle. Life seemed so difficult and complicated for them. He admired those who could cope with it. And luckily, he was not one of them.

"Yes," Harry sighed. He crawled underneath the table and retrieved the Muggle toy. "Let's try this again."

"W-w-wait," said Ron, "I'm not so sure I want to write a paper on a rubber ball, after all." He had obviously lost interest in the simple Muggle plaything. "Isn't there anything more _interesting_?"

"We've already discussed this, Ron," Harry said through gritted teeth. "_This_ is the simplest thing you can write your Muggle Studies essay on and still get _some sort of credit_."

"Hello," said Phebe, appearing suddenly. She was listening to a Muggle Discman. "Look," Phebe said, smiling happily. She turned the Discman over and opened the battery compartment. The batteries were sparkling. "Everlasting charge!"

Ron looked at the Discman curiously. "Hey, I could write about the .. the portable Muggle music thing!" he exclaimed.

"not a chance," said Phebe. "That's what _I'm_ writing my paper about. This is research." She grinned.

"It's just not fair!" Ron whined. "You're half-Muggle. You've got the advantage."

Phebe smirked and shrugged. She took a seat in from of Hermione's tremendous pile of books. Ron continued to frown at her.

"Cheer up, Ron," she said. "Harry and me will help you with your essay." She studied the stack of materials in front of her. "Whose are these?"

"_Mine_," said Hermione, scowling at Phebe. "And that's _my_ seat." She smacked her notes ostentatiously down on top of the books.

"Sorry," said Phebe. She climbed over Harry's lap to his other side to clear Hermione's space. "We have Arithmancy homework over vacation?" she asked Hermione, pointing at the heap of books that consisted primarily of Arithmancy guides and dictionaries.

"_No_," said Hermione curtly. "_This_ is _extra credit_." She sat down. "Not like you would _do_ the homework if we _did_ have it," she added in a mumble.

"What?" asked Phebe.

"_Nothing_," Hermione jeered. "It's just that there are people who _do_ their work and there are _those_ that _don't_." She stared at Phebe pointedly.

Phebe bit her tongue, put on her earphones and looked away. _Don't take the bait_, she told herself, _don't start a row_. She was not about to pick a fight with Harry's best friend in front of him. There was no telling whose side he'd take. Harry had been friends with Hermione for over six years. She turned up the volume on her Discman to drone out Hermione's bickering.

Harry was absently bouncing the rubber ball on the table. Ron had picked up a copy of _TeenWitch_ and was keenly reading the witches' beauty special on page 24. Hermione put her notes down in front of her and opened the first book to the index. She ran her finger down a column. The rubber ball bounced.

"_Harry_," Hermione said. "Please _stop_." Hermione favored absolute silence when she studied. Harry tucked the Muggle toy into his pocket obligingly. He folded his hands. Hermione sat and listened to the sweet silence for a few moments. Perfect. Satisfied, she continued flipping through the book.

"_Hmm, hmm_," hummed Phebe, "_Cry me a river-er_," she sang softly, tapping her fingers on the edge of the table in time to the music.

"Phebe," said Hermione harshly. She could feel her temples throbbing. Why was Phebe always so annoying? Phebe hummed. "_Phebe_." She hummed. Hermione sat up. "PHEBE!" she shouted. "_Shut up_, SHUT UP!"

"Ouch." said Harry, clutching his right ear. "That was loud."

Hermione grabbed the Arithmancy guide and heaved past Harry. It smacked Phebe on the shoulder.

"Hermione!" said Harry.

"Ow!" said Phebe loudly, pulling off her earphones and looking around for the offender. Hermione glared at her. "What did you do _that_ for?"

"Shut up, Phebe," Hermione hissed, ignoring Harry. "Or do you not know how?"

"What?" flouted Phebe. "Why did you throw a book at me?"

"You were _singing_," Hermione spit. "And your voice annoys me."

Phebe picked up the book and threw it back at Hermione, who was too surprised to ward it off. "And yours annoys _me_."

Hermione swept the stack of books off the table in fury. Notes and papers scattered all over the floor. "Who are _you_ to go throwing books at _me_?" she inquired angrily.

Harry and Ron stared at the girls in astonishment. Neither had ever seen them so riled up before.

"Who?" screamed Hermione, the build-up of two years of hate burst from her in two seconds. "WHO? You _lowly_, good-for-_nothing_ _bitch_!"

"Hey," said Phebe, feeling outraged. Who was this _swot_ to insult _her_ like this? "I don't know what kind of half-baked fool you take me to be, Hermione, but I've taken your _subtle_ hint. You obviously don't like me and for whatever Neanderthal, _neurotic_ reason that may be, I'll just _seize the day_ and tell you what I think of _you_."

"Phebe," cautioned Harry, "Please don't pick a fight."

"This is between me and this proletarian cunt here," Phebe said.

"_What_ did you call me?" Hermione sneered. "You idiotic slut – where'd you learn those fancy words? I had no idea you could spell anything with more than six letters."

"Let's not get so pers–" started Ron.

"No," Phebe interrupted. "I'm not going to have an insipid, corrupt derelict undermining my intelligence. Not today and not _ever_." She pushed Harry gently out of her way and stepped up to face Hermione. "You should think twice before letting your capricious insidiousness judge people when you actually have _no idea_."

"Oh, shut up," Hermione hissed.

Phebe held her hands up in surrender. "I'm going to walk away now. You can't expect me to stoop to the level of intellectual indigence you seem to be vegetating on." 

Phebe left the lounge and didn't look back. Her hands were shaking with anger. Hermione always had to be on top of everything and know more than everyone else. She was not stupid, Phebe granted Hermione that, but all her intelligence came from her over-the-top bookishness. She obviously had some very ineffectual people skills.

As she was crawling through the Ravenclaw portrait hole, Phebe realized she had forgotten her Discman with the charmed batteries in the lounge. She hoped Harry would remember it, because if a teacher found it, she'd surely get in trouble for enchanting a Muggle artifact.

***                            *                          ***

"What was _that_?" Harry asked Hermione heatedly.

"She _started_ it!" Hermione insisted, fuming.

"No," sneered Harry, "I saw you throwing a book at her _first_." Ron decided it would be wise to keep quiet.

"She was bothering me!" justified Hermione.

"Phebe was _singing_!" Harry countered. He knew Phebe did not sound particularly _good_ when she sang, but it was certainly no reason to get violent. Gosh.

"What about all those mean things she said about me?" argued Hermione.

"You were _both_ provoking _each other_," replied Harry. He grabbed Phebe's Discman, which was still running. "Now if you'll excuse me," he pushed gruffly past his best friend, "I have _better_ things to do than to listen to you put my girlfriend down. Bye, Ron."

He put on Phebe's earphones. _What's this?_ he thought, _sounds like that Muggle boy-band spin-off, Lumberlake, or whatever his name was_. At any rate, it was not his type of music.

Ron waved weakly at Harry's retreating frame and readied himself for the inevitable half-hour rant of rage that he was in for.

***                            *                          ***

"Whoa," said Vanessa, when she caught sight of Phebe's face expression. Phebe had crept into the common room through the portrait hole. Her face was flushed, her big, dark-brown eyes brimming with tears. "What happened? What's wrong?"

Phebe got up and dusted off her knees. "Let's just say, Hermione and I have our little differences." Her eyes flooded. "I don't believe it! She threw a book at me and he didn't do anything!"

"Who?"

"Hermione!"

"Hermione didn't do anything?"

"No! Harry did _nothing_!" Enormous tears rolled down Phebe's pink cheeks. The corners of her mouth were turned down into a piteous frown. "He just _sat_ there."

Van got up from her cozy seat in front of the warm Ravenclaw fire. She took Phebe's arm and led her back to the couch she'd been sitting on.

"Hermione threw a _book_ at you?" she asked, amazed. Phebe nodded, sniffling. "Well, I sure hope you threw it _back_," Vanessa said. Phebe nodded again. "You _did_?" asked Vanessa, chuckling.

"Yes," said Phebe.

"Good job!" Van laughed.

***                            *                          ***


End file.
